


Chasing The Sun

by stitchandrepair



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ages 9-19, Coming of Age, Complete, Gen, Growing Up, I've forgotten how to use AO3, M/M, Other, casual homophobic slurs, kind of, similar to the show, summertime in Michigan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchandrepair/pseuds/stitchandrepair
Summary: REPOST: Back by popular demand (meaning one kind person asked after it, so I thought I'd repost it)A tale of two young outcasts finding their way through summer in suburban Michigan.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 42
Kudos: 95





	1. Ian Gallagher: Aged Nine

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this originally back in... 2014? 20-something? A whole entire year has passed since March, so lord knows how long ago it was.
> 
> But my gal Beth, The Mintsauce, sent me a screenshot of somebody asking after it, so I thought I'd reshare.
> 
> This is an AU, but a few things happen similar to the show. Ian finds out Clayton is his dad (much younger than in the show) and despite the rocky start, ends up having to spend his summers in Michigan with Clayton and the fam.

**Aged 9**

_“Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.”_

**― Henry James**

"Fucking prick!" Mickey yelled as he pushed the kid in front of him. The kid was bigger, older. The fear that made Mickey's heart beat hard against his rib cage, like it was trying to smash its way through it, was the same fear that formed beads of sweat on his forehead that prickled at his skin and irritated him, making his clothes sit uncomfortably against him.

The kid pushed him back, sending him skidding to the ground and that was when Mickey lost it. Blind rage took over. With it, he was aware of nothing but the air as it changed around him as he moved faster and the feel of his fists as they swung as hard and as fast as he could move them.

He felt something cold, something liquid hit his knuckles and he saw a flash of red before he felt his arms being pulled back and his feet being lifted off the ground. He twisted and struggled against the other person's grip and he cursed for the person to put him down but they wouldn't, they held on, tighter and tighter until Mickey's vision cleared and he could see that the big kid was now on the ground, blood spilling freely from his nose and his eye red and beginning to swell.

He blinked, relaxing into the other person's hold and looked up at a blonde, older woman - the big kid's parent. When she saw Mickey looking she began to yell at him, demanded his parent's address so she could show them what he had done to her kid. Mickey just glared at her and kicked back at the person behind him until they put him safely onto the ground. He turned his head and saw that it was a boy, shorter than him with chubby cheeks and ginger hair, freckles spattered across his face. He looked years younger than Mickey and Mickey found himself frowning at him as he wiped at the corner of his mouth, but the boy just looked back at him, eyes wide and friendly and Mickey didn't understand it.

He turned his head back to the woman who was still yelling at him and he just pulled a face at her, his lips turned up in a scowl. Suddenly the boy that had been holding onto him was speaking, voice quiet but forceful and he stepped in front of Mickey like he was defending him. It was only when he paid attention to what the boy was saying that he realized he was - this strange kid really was defending him. Mickey just stared at the side of the boy’s head in confusion as he pointed at the bleeding kid crying into his mother's chest

"...that boy there started it by shoving him into the sandpit earlier. He started it, I swear."

And Mickey knew that was a lie, he knew that the ginger boy knew it was a lie because he'd been watching as Mickey kicked sand into the boy's face for no reason other than he was sat where Mickey wanted to sit. "Dylan, is this true?" 

They woman leant her face close to her son's and Mickey tuned out as she began to yell at him, telling him off for always causing trouble when she leaves him alone.

The ginger boy turned around so that he was facing Mickey and grinned at him with a naughty look on his face. It looked foreign on the boy's features when his hair practically glowed in the sun, creating a damn halo around his head. Mickey bit his cheek to stop from grinning back, but the boy looked at him like he saw that grin anyway and he let out a small laugh before he walked right past Mickey like he didn't have a care in the world.

Mickey watched him as he walked over to the swings and sat down all on his own, swinging faster and faster, never going above a certain height, until the chains conked and rattled as he swung back towards the ground. The boy had his eyes closed every time he swung upwards, the sun shining down on his face and he smiled, big and wide to himself as he bumped back towards the earth, his hands curled tight around the chains, his knuckles white from holding on so fiercely.

Mickey scratched the back of his head and felt his feet moving towards the boy until he was sat beside him on the swing, barely moving. The boy came to a stop beside him, red faced and smiling that big, wide, friendly grin he gave when Mickey first saw him and Mickey just frowned in return.

"Hi." The boy said and Mickey tipped his head in an unsure nod,

"Hi."

They sat on the swings, their feet skimming along the tarmac as they idly moved back and forth, side by side, in sync with each other. Mickey noticed that the other boy now had his arms looped tightly around the chains and it seemed as if he was afraid of falling, even from such a low height.

He seemed uncomfortable in the silence that had fallen over them like a blanket, in the park that was usually so alive with noise. To busy himself, his hands, the red haired boy picked his bag up from the ground and pulled out a box.

Mickey laughed at the neatly cut sandwiches that lay in the centre of it as the boy pulled off its lid and he rolled up a piece of lint from his shorts and threw it in front of him, ignoring the pang of hunger rumbling in his belly "You brought a packed lunch to the park?"

The boy looked up at him, one eye squinted to an almost close as the sun bounced off of the slide and he shrugged, looking down at the food box as if it had offended him, "My dad's weird about stuff like that."

"You live here?" Mickey asked and the boy shook his head so hard, as if he wanted to deny any ties to the place,

"No. I live in Chicago with my other dad and my brothers and sisters."

"Your other dad?" He asked, confused, as he scratched at his throat, the sun making his too small clothes stick even more uncomfortably to his skin.

"Yeah. I have two."

"Like fags?"

"No." The boy rolled his eyes so dramatically that Mickey felt himself almost smiling, "My mom cheated on my other dad with his brother."

Mickey nodded like he understood, and he did. "My dad cheated on my mom a lot - that's how come I got two younger brothers. Molly and Jimmy."

"Molly?" the boy questioned, a frown on his face in confusion,

"Yeah." Mickey shrugged, squinting up at the boy who just nodded in return,

"Where are you from?"

"Not here." Mickey answered, leaning forward on the swings, his head facing the floor before he ran backwards, curling his legs under the swing. He felt the blood rush to his face and for a moment he felt like he was flying.

He put his feet down firmly on the tarmac and his body swayed and the chains of the swing chinked as they were forced to a standstill. He looked up at the boy and saw that his eyes were on him, crinkled under the glare of the sun, but he looked, for a moment, like he was in awe. Of the way Mickey flew without fear.

And Mickey screwed his nose up at the unfamiliar feeling snaking its way up his insides. "Then why--"

"Visiting my mom."

The boy's eyebrows shot up and he ducked his head to scratch his knuckle against his eye, his arm still looped around the chain, "You live with your dad too?"

"Most of the time - We move around a lot though."

"Where are you now?" The boy asked curiously and Mickey fidgeted in his swing, not using to being asked so many questions.

"Boston." He answered, hocking up a wad of spit in his throat, “Not for much longer though, prob’ly.”

"It'd be cool if you moved to Chicago."

"Why?" He asked, watching as the trail of spit dangled further and further from his mouth until it snapped like a rope and dropped to the ground between his feet,

"So we could be friends at home too."

Mickey looked up at the boy in confusion, the word foreign on his tongue, "Friends?"

"...Yeah." The boy answered, like it was obvious, as he bit into his sandwich "That's what we are."

Mickey snorted but didn't comment. Instead he just took the snickers bar that the boy offered him.

He un-wrapped it as he bent his knees to push himself back and forth slightly on the swing and asked "What's your name?"

"Ian."

"Ian?" Mickey considered as he bit into the snickers bar, looking intently over at the slide, "dumbass name."

He looked over at Ian, wanting to see his reaction and the boy just smiled. Mickey almost found himself smiling back "I'm Mickey."

"Like the mouse?"

Ian laughed as Mickey just pushed him to the ground, not even caring that the rest of his lunch spilled out onto the floor and got covered in dirt.

***********

During a summer of humidity and soaring temperatures, the two boys quickly become friends.

They spend their days playing together at the park and stalking through the shaded woods with long sticks, stopping occasionally to poke at things hidden under the bark and mud piles (or each other, depending on Mickey's mood. Ian's pretty sure the mark below his ribs from where Mickey had poked him with the jagged edge of a stick was staying for good.)

Most days Ian's younger half-brother Jacob followed them around and he always complained when they dug holes in the mud and when they played the drums with their sticks-come-swords along the metal fences of the park. Mickey complained about Jacob every single day and threatened him even more. Jacob usually cried.

Today, however, Jacob had apparently decided to grow a pair, choosing to threaten Mickey with his and Ian's father for picking on some of the other kids in the park. Ian had to step in between them and stop Mickey from burying his kid brother's head in the sandpit. For the rest of the day, Mickey looked as though he was still considering it.

Mickey had been moody for most of the week and Jacob hadn't made his day any better. So when a tall, scrawny overgrown streak of piss from a few blocks behind Ian's dad's house came over and kicked sand over Mickey's shoes, Ian just knew that what was left of the day was downhill from there.

"What are you, about six?"

Mickey didn't even bother to scowl; his whole face was void of any expression as he shook the sand from his shoes "I'm ten, asshole."

"Wow, someone doesn't drink their milk huh - you know that helps you to grow, right?" The tall boy had dark blond hair and no eyebrows and Ian wanted to laugh with Mickey about them, but he didn't think Mickey was up for laughing right now. He tucked the thought away in his pocket for later and sighed at what he knew was coming.

Mickey didn't say anything and Ian knew that was always worse than when Mickey made the effort to talk. He just stood up and shoved the kid as hard as he could and the kid fell onto the grass with a thump and a rush of breath as it was forced out of him.

Before Mickey could step closer to the bigger boy, Ian reached out his hand and gripped Mickey's arm, stopping him from doing anything else. It worked, somehow, because Mickey took in a shuddering breath, his jaw un-clenched and he calmed down, his arm un-tensing under Ian's grip.

He let out a breath that Ian thought was more of a growl and fell back down onto the swing and watched as the kid ran away, feet slipping on the floor before he managed to stand upright, face red with embarrassment and a chorus of kids laughing at him. When Ian looked back at Mickey he saw Jacob out the corner of his eye, frowning at Mickey like Mickey was the grossest thing he'd ever seen and pouting his lips.

"What?" Ian asked, the sun blinding Jacob from him for a moment until his eyes adjusted,

"I'm going to tell."

"Kid deserved it." Mickey muttered, scuffing his shoe against the tarmac and Ian's hands felt a stabbing pain as they fought the urge to reach over to him and pat him on the shoulder like his brother always did to him.

"You shouldn't shove people." Jacob replied sulkily, mumbling the comment towards the ground as he avoided Mickey's eyes,

"Jeez, Gallagher!" Mickey shouted, his head now up and looking directly at Ian with an incredulous look on his face, "you're related to this kid?"

"Half." Ian grumbled, not wanting to admit it,

"Ian!" Jacob whined petulantly, "Daddy'll be mad if he knows you're fighting."

Mickey's head whipped round to face Jacob and Ian could see his grip tightening on the chain as it twisted in his hands "He didn't punch anybody did he?"

Jacob's eyes went wide and he shrunk under Mickey's eyes "No."

"Then he wasn't fighting."

Ian sighed and ran a hand along the back of his head, "Hey it's ok Jake, it's cool now. Go play on the slide."

Jacob looked between the two boys before shrugging and walking off towards the slide with hunched shoulders, "Fine."

"That kid's such a goody two shoes." Mickey practically hissed before spitting on the floor where Jacob previously stood.

***********

"Hey Jake. Ian!" Clayton called as he pulled up onto the gravel car park. Ian and Jacob ran over to him, almost identical with their red hair and chubby cheeks and Clayton just smiled at his two boys.

Jacob clambered straight into the backseat without a word and within seconds Clayton could hear the click of his seat belt, all ready to go.

"Hi, Clayton." Ian smiled tightly as he came to a stop in front of the car, hesitant, as always, to climb in.

"Who's your friend?" Clayton asked, tipping his head towards a dark haired boy who was standing alone in the park, staring in their direction. He ducked his head under Clayton's gaze, instead busying himself looking down at the ground and scuffing his shoe against it.

Ian twisted his head and looked behind him to where Mickey was now kicking the grass, pacing up and down behind the fence,

"Mickey." Ian admitted shyly, but Clayton could see excitement in his eyes and his whole face turned red as he tried to suppress a smile,

"Well would Mickey like to attend dinner at our house tomorrow?"

"Can he?" Ian's eyes went wide and Clayton heard Jacob sigh from behind him, ignored it, and focused on Ian who was now practically bouncing on his tip toes, all shyness from earlier completely gone.

"Sure kiddo, go and invite him."

Ian's eyes looked straight into his, confident and sure in a way Clayton had never seen, had never been, and Clayton could see the enthusiasm draining from him. His face fell and his shoulders slumped as he picked at the paint work on the door of the car, eyes now focusing on that in a forced intensity, "will Lucy get mad?"

Clayton bit back a sigh, swallowed the flush of anger that painted his insides, inwardly groaned at the thought of another argument, "Lucy will be fine." He reassured and smiled as brightly as he could muster at his son, "Go on."

Uncertainty still on his face, Ian paused before his whole face broke out in a huge grin and he ran, practically bounded over to the park as fast as he could and Clayton chuckled to himself, hearing his son's high pitched voice as he ran through the gate, "Mick!"

Ian was out of breath by the time he reached Mickey and he leant down with his hands on his knees, skin itching with excitement as he fought to breathe,

"Whoa Gallagher, what set your ass on fire?" Mickey asked with a snort and Ian would've rolled his eyes but he was too excited. He screwed up one side of his face, his eye scrunched up against the sun as he looked up at Mickey, fighting back a smile,

"My dad said you can come to dinner tomorrow night!"

Mickey frowned at him, nose wrinkling. He scratched at his arm and Ian noticed bruises like fingertips curled like a snake around the inside of his arm, "Wha- dinner? What are we a couple? No--" Mickey let a short breath out of his nose "why?"

Ian, suddenly less excited, disappointment and embarrassment curled in his stomach like a spring wound tight, just shrugged as he stood upright, eyes cast to the ground. Mickey scratched at his ear, seeing the defeated look on his friend's face "What, you want me to?"

Ian nodded, unsure and still embarrassed, his hope growing as Mickey's mouth twitched and his eyes shone with unspoken apology. 

Mickey just nodded back, "kay."

"Really?" Ian asked, once again full of excitement, his voice going up an octave as his face split open in a grin,

"Yeah," Mickey muttered but Ian could see the smile that he was biting back, "sure."

Ian grinned even wider, his cheeks aching in the best possible way and his whole body was buzzing with anticipation, "We can get ice cream for afters!"

Mickey snorted out a laugh and wouldn't look at Ian as his cheeks coloured pink from Ian's happy gaze, "Better be raspberry with sauce or I’m not coming."

"I'll ask my dad to give you three scoops."

Mickey looked up at Ian and couldn't hold back his smile as he rolled his eyes, "Dork."

"Shut up." Ian muttered, still grinning as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings, ripped out of the private world he always seemed to find himself in with Mickey by the sound of his dad's bibbing horn. He smiled once again at Mickey before running back over to his dad.

Mickey looked after him long after the car had reversed out of the car park.

*********

"We always buy mint choc chip - you know Jacob prefers it." Clayton repeated for what was possibly the fourth time in as many minutes as Ian hung off his elbow and crashed his side once again into the basket in Clayton's hand.

"Pleeease?" Ian begged, his voice pleading as he dragged his heels, "just this once?"

They had been in the supermarket for half an hour longer than usual. Clayton had been pleasantly surprised when Ian decided to tag along on the weekly trip, usually either out or opting to sit up in his room and call his brothers and sisters back in Chicago. Despite Ian analysing every single item that got put in the food basket, putting back everything he deemed too expensive (before Clayton reminded him gently that they could afford it and it was okay) and pestering him about ingredients and if he thought Mickey would like it and ‘does it have peanut butter in it? 'cause Mickey really hates peanut butter!’ Clayton couldn't bring himself to quite hate the time spent with his son.

They never got to do this, hang out and talk and be by themselves. Lucy hadn't been happy when it was decided that Ian would begin staying each summer so that he could get to know them as a family. She made her disapproval of Ian known and Jacob and Ian were so different. Ian was like an alien in their house - someone so foreign who looked so similar - and Clayton never knew how to be alone with Ian, he never knew how to be a dad that could relate to his son. He didn't know about the things that Ian got up to back in Chicago, or how the family there operated, and he didn't know how to ask. He felt Lucy's hovering presence over his shoulder when he tried to show his son affection, he felt Jacob's jealous glare when he asked Ian how his day was. He felt the burdens of his mistake in every wall of his home, in every feature of Monica on Ian's young face.

His sons were the most important thing to Clayton now. Years ago, when Ian was young and away in Chicago, Clayton had wished ill of him, wished for all proof of his affair, the grey cloud lurking on his family's shoulders, to disappear, vanish and be erased. He wished that his family could be happy, like before. Like before the news of Ian, and of Clayton's betrayal of Lucy. But now, with his red hair, his freckles and chubby cheeks, every smile that he saw on Ian's face, every moment that he got to see him, be around him, every quiet murmuring behind Ian's door at night when he was supposed to be sleeping, Clayton couldn't bring himself to regret the boy at all.

He smiled with barely concealed affection down at the pouting boy currently hanging off his arm, "Wow, did you learn manners all of a sudden?"

Ian screwed up his face and looked so much like Jacob, so much like himself, and Clayton had to force out a breath. Ian’s tone was dry as ice when he spoke again, "Pretty please dad, can we have the raspberry?"

Dad. Ian had never called him dad before. He had heard Ian use the term, but it was never to him, always about him. The word didn't seem to fit comfortably in Ian's mouth, always came out like he had a mouth full of soil, or it sat too large and too huge in Ian's mouth and he almost choked on it. But now, this, with the two of them, father and son, walking around the supermarket, this was perfect. This was family.

Ian could have whatever he wanted.

Clayton hid his smile, tucked it like a secret into the pocket of his brain and nodded, "just this once."

Ian stomped his feet, his whole face red with excitement, "YES! And Mickey's gotta have three scoops of it."

Clayton's eyes crinkled in the corners as he looked down at his son, pushing the cart up ahead with determination, "Oh he has huh? Why's that?"

"Cause he just has too." Ian stated like it was obvious, throwing his hand up in exasperation,

Clayton couldn't help the chuckle that breathed from his lips, Ian's whole body exerted happiness and a childish excitement that sent a wind of memories breezing through his mind, of toy trains and Misty Larson from the next street, of first kisses and rosy cheeks, of a childhood long gone.

He patted the back of Ian's head and smiled wide, "You've never had a friend over for dinner before have you?"

Ian went quiet and Clayton saw the apples of his cheeks flushing red, in embarrassment it seemed, rather than the previous excitement that coloured his cheeks moments before as he confessed in a quiet voice tinged with sadness that he had never really had a friend before.

*******

"This food is the shit." Mickey's voice boomed over the table as he chewed, open mouthed, on a cut of beef.

This was the best night of Ian's life. He had his best friend in the whole world over for dinner. If Ian was at home he would have shown Mickey his room and the collection of R rated videos that him and Lip had hidden under the bed and he'd tell Mickey about the time when he was four and Lip had fallen from the bunk bed and cut his head open, there was blood everywhere. He'd show Mickey the faint stain of blood on the bedroom wall and the height chart him and Lip had kept on the inside of the door - they stopped when Ian was three inches taller than Lip and Lip hadn't grown in two months. Lip didn't like it.

But he wasn't at home and he couldn't talk about R rated movies because Lucy would tell him off and she wouldn't let him watch films with Jacob for a week. But it didn't matter to Ian because Mickey was sat at the table and Jacob hadn't got them in trouble and Ian would swear that no night would ever be better than this one.

Ian smiled as Mickey cursed and praised the food and he kicked Jacob under the table when he heard him muttering about Mickey's table manners. Jacob was no fun.

"Ay, could you pass the salt?" Mickey asked with his mouth full of green beans, nose crinkled at the apparently plain taste.

Clayton looked to his side, where Lucy was sat at the head of the table with her lips pursed and her eyebrows forcibly held apart so they wouldn't fall into a frown. With a nervous chuckle, he picked up the salt and handed it to Mickey, who wiped his hands idly on his vest before he grabbed the shaker and smiled through a mouthful of food, "Thanks."

"So. Mickey." He started, trying to dispel the anger radiating off of Lucy. He didn't know what was annoying her more - Mickey's poor table manners or Ian as he swung his legs excitedly under the table, his chair screeching with the movement. "Ian says you're not from around here either?"

"Na," Mickey replied, forking another piece of beef into his mouth, "I live with my old man."

"W..." Clayton cleared his throat and he could feel sweat beads forming at his hairline, already preparing his words for the coming argument with Lucy, "where abouts?"

"We move around a lot."

Pouring Lucy a fresh glass of wine, he spared a look at her and she was glaring at him. He quickly turned his head away from her and patted at the spot where the wine glass had overflowed under his almost trembling hands, "Is.. is your father with the Military or something? Is that why you move?"

"Na, dad just fights a lot." Mickey sniffed, scratching at his jaw and smearing grease along his neck from his fingertips, "I saw him break this one guy's arm right outta the skin." he snorted in amusement and Clayton dropped his fork "total badass. We had to move pretty quickly after that though." Mickey shrugged and looked like he was tempted to roll his eyes "Dad pisses off the wrong people all the time."

"..Oh." Clayton flushed, his face red as he busied himself by putting a forkful of green beans in his mouth.

Silence fell over the table and sweat formed in Clayton's palms until an excited, small voice came from the other side of the table. Ian. "Did he really do that?"

Ian asked and he felt as his eyes bugged out and his mouth dropped open, "Yeah man.”

"That's so cool." Ian snorted in disbelief as his legs swung harder under the table. He could see Lucy's stern face, her eyes burning into him, but he didn't care. Not today. "My dad--" He paused awkwardly, tumbled over his words as he spared a glance up at Clayton "my other dad," he corrected, "He’s like falling over all the time and stuff. Can't fight at all."

A grin broke out on his face and Mickey looked at him, amused "Saw my brother Lip smack a guy's head off the wall once though. There was so much blood."

Ian grinned wickedly and Mickey saw that look on his face, the naughty, pleased look that looked foreign on his angelic features. Before he could comment, Ian's stepmom screeched her chair noisily along the floor and huffed as she cleaned her fingers with a napkin, "Boys!" she scolded, glaring between the two of them, her features softening when she turned to look at Jacob "enough. Not at the dinner table. Please." she added out of forced politeness, like they really had a choice.

Ian tried to fight back his smile as Mickey tucked his chin to his chest and snorted as her eyes grew wider. All she needed was steam coming from her ears. "Sorry, Lucy."

"Mickey what time did your mother say she would pick you up?" Lucy asked, stiffly, her fingers curling tightly into the napkin in her palm, nails digging into the white fabric.

Mickey shrugged as he licked his fingers, "Eight o'clock."

Lucy made a displeased noise at the back of her throat "Well if you want dessert I suggest you eat faster - it's quarter too."

Mickey looked at her pointedly as he noisily sucked the meat juices from his fingers before taking a swig of his juice, his wet fingers smearing over the glass, "kay."

********

It was just after ten past eight when Mickey finished his dessert - three scoops of raspberry ripple with a ton of sauce, just like Ian promised - and Lucy was apparently finding it harder to control her disdain for the entire evening. She could've sworn Mickey was eating extra slowly on purpose.

"Mickey should I call your mother?"

Mickey looked from where him and Ian were play fighting on the sofa, laughing loudly, and over to her, his eyes hard as he scratched at his belly, "No phone."

Lucy took a deep breath and studied Mickey's hole-filled socks. He wiggled his toes under her gaze and she closed her eyes, taking a moment to collect herself "Your mother doesn't have a--"

"She'll be here." he all but snapped and when she opened her eyes to glare at him, she was shocked to find he just glared back. He didn't shrink under her gaze like Clayton, didn't turn away from her like Ian, he just glared, eyes cold in a way she'd never seen on a human being before, especially one so young.

"Clayton - I..." Lucy snapped as she stood up before taking a breath to calm herself, "I'm going to go and put Jacob to bed. Deal with this." she ordered with a fake smile, "Okay?"

********

Ian had grown quiet after Lucy stormed up the stairs, had sat with his eyes cast to the ground and his hands shaking against his ribs, his arms folded across his chest until Mickey jammed his toe in the flesh between his ribs and hip bone. Ian had refused to laugh, bit his tongue and squirmed away until Mickey pounced on him and dug his fingers into his ribs and Ian found himself laughing, practically squealing, as he fought back, hands pressing against Mickey's chest.

Clayton had hovered around them, tried to get them to calm down and be quiet, Jacob was sleeping, but they hadn't listened, once again caught up in their own private world, just the two of them and eventually Clayton had given up.

When nine o'clock ticked by the two boys were on the floor, Ian had Mickey in a headlock, his legs in a vice grip around his thighs and Mickey was pinching at Ian's sides, trying to get him to loosen so that Mickey could wriggle free.

They only broke apart when the sound of a horn came from outside. It bibbed and bibbed, not caring about sleeping children and the neighbourhood that was quiet with night time. Mickey jabbed Ian in the ribs one last time before he stood up, "That's her."

"Oh," Clayton stuttered as he ducked his head back into the room, "Well - I'll walk you down the path."

"I got it, dad." Ian said as he scrambled to his feet, tongue poking out the side of his mouth.

Mickey turned to look at Clayton and lifted his hand awkwardly to say a goodbye and Clayton went to speak when Ian kicked at Mickey's ankle,

"Uh, thanks." Mickey said, the words tripping out of his mouth as if Ian's kick had jolted his memory and his manners. "For... dinner." the young boy clarified as he turned his head to glare at Ian.

Ian just laughed, running through to the hallway to open the front door.

Mickey put on his shoes and Clayton fought the urge to offer the boy a jacket as he headed out into the cool summer night with just his vest and jogging bottoms on. He stood at the door and watched the two boys as they headed down the path.

They were polar opposites in looks - light and dark - Ian, with his short, chubby build and orange hair, stood out against Mickey, the skinny little kid with jet black hair.

He didn't understand the way that they interacted - everything about them was physical. They barely spoke when they were together, just the two of them, they touched and looked and understood each other without any words needing to be spoken. They were similar in all the ways that Ian was different to him and Jacob. 

Mickey seemed to fit all the pieces of Ian that Clayton could never fill.

And Clayton didn't understand it but he had seen it on Ian's face what Mickey meant to him. He had seen it all night, at the supermarket, in the way his legs swung with excitement under the dinner table.

He looked over at the two boys as they walked down the path towards the beat up car at the end of the drive. Mickey bumped his shoulder against Ian's and Clayton saw Ian's grin as he heard Mickey murmur. "Didn't have to kick me."

A loud, hoarse voice broke out over the silence of the neighbourhood and Clayton squinted behind his glasses, could just make out a skinny woman behind the wheel, her dyed blonde hair wild and her denim jacket slipping from one shoulder. A cloud of smoke surrounded her as she puffed on a cigarette, "Hurry the fuck up Mick, you think I got all night? I got places to be!"

"Jeez mom," Mickey spoke, his voice loud and exasperated "I'm two steps away!"

"Well get in."

Clayton watched as Ian stepped back a little and he thought he saw Mickey raise his eyebrows at Ian in the way he had during dinner, their own silent form of communication, before he hopped in the back of the car, not bothering to put his seat belt on.

"Uh, tomorrow at the park?" came Ian's voice, unsure as bounced on the balls of his feet, 

"Yeah." Mickey replied before he closed the car door. His mother chucked her cigarette onto the lawn and Clayton sighed and just waved as she drove away.

Ian ran back up the path to his dad, grinning wide and Clayton felt his lips turn up in a tired smile,

"Can he come back next week dad? Can he?"

"Uh..." Clayton cleared his throat and ran a hand down the back of Ian's head "We'll see kiddo."

Ian didn't reply, just walked back into the house and as Clayton closed the door they came face to face with Lucy, who stood with her arms crossed and her lips pursed, glaring at Clayton.

*******

They had been at the park for hours and the day had dragged on. Mickey had somehow grown used to all of his day being filled with Ian's excited chatter or Ian silently following him around, letting Mickey take control and doing whatever he wanted. He was used to Ian's eager questions and seeing his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focused on whatever he was doing - building castles out of sand, sharpening his stick to make it into a spear with Mickey's pocket knife, even tying his shoelaces received full focus and Mickey was used to that.

He was not used to half-hearted conversations and Ian letting him win play fights and hours of uncomfortable silences. They had sat on the swings, Mickey having finally given up on trying to snap Ian out of his mood, for over an hour when Mickey finally gave in and asked, too harsh, aggravated in a way he did not understand, caring too much about Ian's bad mood in a way he had not cared before. "What's up with you!?"

Ian finally looked up at him, eyes unsure, not quite looking at Mickey, "You're not allowed to come for dinner anymore."

Mickey felt a breath of air rush out of his lungs and his chest deflated at Ian's confession. He wasn't surprised. "Oh. Why?"

Ian's lips twitched for a moment before he answered in a small voice, "My dad's wife didn't like that you swore."

Mickey just smiled cynically, a sour taste on his tongue "Your dad's wife is a douchebag."

Ian snorted and a wry smile pulled at his mouth, "I know - she makes me fold my clothes every night."

His eyebrows crinkled, Mickey screwed one eye shut as he looked over at Ian, his feet skimming along the tarmac, "She does?"

"Yeah! And I have to wash my hands all the time."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Mickey's face and he crinkled his nose, "That's so stupid."

"I know. She's so moody too. Yelling at my dad all the time about me like she thinks I can't hear her."

"Why about you?" He asked as Ian hung his head, leaning forward on the swing with his hands curled tightly around the chains. He looked away from Ian as Ian twisted his head to look up at him,

"...If I wasn't his kid I wouldn't be allowed to dinner either."

Mickey couldn't bring himself to look at Ian. He didn't even know why, he just didn't want to see the look on his friend's face, didn't want to know if it matched the sad tone of his voice.

"Whatever man, parents are fuckheads anyway." Mickey said as he spat on the floor below him.

He kicked at the tarmac with his shoe, smearing the wad of saliva into the ground and Ian just stared down at it with his eyes squinted and his face twisted in a sour expression as he sighed.

***

Mickey left on a Tuesday.

It was a week before Ian was set to leave and Ian spent the last five days of his summer holed up in the guest room at his dad's house drawing pictures of two best friends on their summer adventures in the park. When Ian got home he took down all the posters on the walls around the bed and put up the pictures he had drawn and spent every night studying them, taking in every detail so he could never ever forget the summer he spent with his best friend.


	2. Ian Gallager: Aged 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning - Brief scene with gross pervert. Nothing explicit, but still gross. Skip to end notes for full warning.
> 
> Ian and Mickey on the verge of puberty and growing up, trying new things, picking up bad habits and building forts.

**Aged 12.**

_"When I think of you, I think of sunny days in June._

_Now there's nothing to do But wait for the summer_

_Wait for the summer and you"_

**-Leif Garret, When I Think Of You.**

  
  


"You ever even smoked before?" Mickey asked as he lit up his cigarette. He took a long pull on it and felt the tension leave him as the smoke filled his lungs. He rested his head against the brick wall as Ian looked around, making sure the coast was clear.

Mickey opened his eyes and Ian was looking at him, wide-eyed and unsure, before he gestured for the cigarette cradled between Mickey's fingers. Mickey just eyed him skeptically as he answered,

"Yeah."

"Fucking liar." He snorted and took another drag.

They were twelve now and had, for the most part, outgrown the park. They spent the summer evenings in a youth group down the block from Mickey's. Most evenings were spent playing indoor football and sneaking into the kitchen for the snacks. They usually ended with Mickey mouthing off to one of the older kids and Ian having to calm him down before they got kicked out.

Their days were usually spent in the town stealing penny sweets and chocolate bars from the local shops and terrorizing the pigeons that flocked around the statues in the main square. Sometimes they ended up back near the park, hiding out in the woods and attempting to build forts out of sticks and leaves and whatever they could get their hands on.

One time, Ian decided he was some kind of monkey and hung upside down on one of the tree branches. His top had fallen down around his ears and Mickey had slapped the palm of his hand against Ian's bellybutton and laughed as Ian told him to fuck off. Ian scrambled to pull his shirt back into place and Mickey hadn't even really been looking, but he had noticed a small pink scar along Ian's ribs in the shape of the jagged edge of a stick.

Mickey had bit his teeth over his bottom lip and shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't lean over and touch it. He didn't get the chance anyway when thirty seconds later Ian face planted the ground.

"I have!" Ian's whining voice brought him back to reality and Mickey blinked at him, "A couple of times - with my brother Lip."

Mickey sniffed and spat at the floor to the side of him, "You like it?"

Ian shrugged, scratching at the back of his head and glancing down at the glowing cherry of Mickey's cigarette, "It's ok."

"Don't have to."

Mickey smirked and just held his hands up, palms open, as Ian took the cigarette from him with a pointed look, "Want to."

Mickey just raised his eyebrows, looking straight at Ian as he put the cigarettes between his pink lips and took a long pull, his eyes not leaving Mickey’s.

His face screwed up and he started to cough, loud and hoarse and doubled over, trying to get rid of the smoke in his system. Mickey patted his back hard, forcing the air from Ian's lungs as he laughed loudly.

Ian just pushed Mickey away from him, laughing himself as he handed Mickey back the cigarette.

*******

The sun was beating down on Ian's back, his whole neck was slick with sweat and he could feel beads trailing under the shirt his dad had made him wear and dripping down his back. He looked over to where Mickey was sitting under the shade of a row of trees in front of the woods where they frequented. Even under the shade, Mickey's face shone with sweat, his hair glistening with it, strands sticking to his forehead.

Ian dipped his head, wiped the sweat that formed at the back and stepped closer towards the ice cream truck as the kid in front of him walked off. Ian looked up through the window of the truck and the balding old man smiled down at him, chubby wrists cracking as he leant forward on them, leaning down slightly, moving as close to Ian as he could get through the window.

Ian exhaled through his nose and his mouth twitched before he smiled coyly, in the way that he and Lip had shown Carl how to smile at the priest when they needed to fake a wedding for their neighbors, Kev and Veronica last winter.

He gave the signal to Mickey, a flick of his hand, and pretended to listen to the driver as he reached out and stroked the back of Ian's head, just once, smiling at him and promising him the best ice cream he would ever taste.

Ian bit back the bile that rose in his throat and pretended that his palms weren't sweating and that he wasn't afraid when the guy's fingers scratched at the back of his head. He pulled his head away and forced that same coy smile back on his face and answered the driver's questions, distracting him and keeping him looking at him. He bit back a grin when he saw Mickey appear behind the old guy.

He grinned and rolled his tongue out of his mouth at Ian before disappearing out of view. Ian felt his heart rate spike as the guy turned round, he felt his stomach drop like lead, only letting out a sigh of relief when the guy began filling a cone with Mr. Whippy ice cream.

He looked back over to underneath the trees and saw Mickey staring over at him, a blue ice pop already in his mouth. He grinned; teeth stained blue and juice dribbling down his chin and shook the box of ice pops that he'd picked up from the truck. Ian grinned back and looked up at the driver who handed him the Mr. Whippy, coated in sprinkles, raspberry sauce and two flakes. Ian took it and went to reach into his pockets but the guy shook his head, his hand curled around Ian's and the ice cream, "Come back tomorrow and I'll give you three flakes." He promised; all smiles.

He squeezed Ian's hand, stroking a finger along a vein before pulling away. Ian looked at him and nodded timidly before he flicked his tongue along the tip of the ice cream and sucked into his mouth. He heard a muted noise cut off in the driver’s throat, Ian grinned, wide, and childish, his teeth coated in ice cream before he walked off.

He sat down beside Mickey under the overgrown trees and grimaced at the lechy old geezer, a shiver running down his spine. He glanced over at Mickey who was glaring, murderous, over at the ice cream truck as he crunched the blue ice pop between his teeth, juice spraying everywhere.

"I'm going to pop that fucker's tires. Creepy ass geriatric." Mickey growled out and Ian just licked his ice cream before he handed one of the flakes to Mickey.

***********

"Ian." Lucy greeted curtly as she opened the door to him and Ian barely raised his eyebrows in response as he walked past her, not even bothering to wipe his shoes.

He toed them off and walked through to the kitchen as she shut the door a fraction too hard behind him. "Can I get a snack?"

"Your dinner is in the oven." she said as she turned into the living room, eyes raking over him and dismissing him just as quickly.

He rolled his eyes at where she had previously stood and began opening up the cupboards, searching through them.

He was loading his arms up with various snacks when Clayton walked in, putting two wine bottles into the recycling bin and busying himself by looking in the fridge.

Ian exhaled through his nose and barely even glanced at him before reaching up and grabbing a tube of BBQ Pringles. He never used to like BBQ all that much, but Mickey had turned up at the park (where they still met up daily before heading off on that day's journey) one day with a whole case of them and the two boys had lived off of them for three whole days, making stupid duck faces with the Pringles between their lips. Mickey's mom had been in a pleasant mood on the day that he and Ian were there, playing Crash Bandicoot, and she'd even taken pictures of the two of them. Ian's pretty sure she was high.

Ever since that day BBQ Pringles had been his favorite.

"You had a good day, kiddo?" Clayton asked, closing the fridge and walking over to the sink, narrowly avoiding Ian who was resting his chin on the pile of snacks built like a tower in one arm.

"Yes, dad." He practically sighed as he rolled his eyes and pulled open the fridge door, taking out two cans of coke.

"You were with Mickey?"

"Yes, dad." he repeated, switching one of the cokes for a Fanta before nudging the door closed with his head and making his way towards the kitchen door,

"You planning on eating all that tonight?"

Ian stopped in his tracks, turned towards Clayton with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, "Uh... I'm a growing boy?”

"You know they say vegetables help young boys grow. Some even say it's better than sugar."

"Frank says that you should never believe what the doctors tell you," Ian remarked, "Says he knew this one guy who refused to believe he had cancer, despite what the doctors kept telling him and one day it was just gone."

"What Frank neglects to mention in that story is that that guy was our Grandpa and the results had just been mixed up. He also died of cancer six months later."

Ian paused, considered it before snorting, "I think I’ll take my chances."

"Fine," Clayton held his hands up with a smile on his lips "but when your teeth fall out your head don’t be asking me to pay for veneers."

"Yeah, yeah." Ian replied before he ran up the stairs, two at a time, only stopping to curse the bag of skittles that landed on the floor with a thud.

*****

"How old were you when you found out - about your dad?" Mickey asked casually, a cigarette trapped between his fingers with one hand while he squished a bug into the mat with the thumb of his other one. Ian grimaced as Mickey wiped the guts on his tracksuit bottoms and ignored Mickey's smirk at his reaction.

"Seven." He answered as he bit into his candy. The two of them were hiding out in their fort - which was finally finished. They'd spent the last two days here, talking and not talking, occasionally leaving to take a walk around the woods or beating each other up with any sticks they found before they ventured back to their hideout.

They had spent the day eating red vines and jelly sweets and Ian's stomach was swollen and the air was smokey and reminded Ian of home. Sat here, he was filled with contentment, just him and Mickey in the middle of the woods. Mickey had turned up a few days ago with a beat up old gymnastic mat and they'd used it as the floor of their base. Tarpaulin hung over a thick branch, falling like a tent either side of the mat and pinned down with tent hooks in three places, making sure it couldn't blow away when the cold weather crept in.

The opening of the tent was covered with a big plank of wood that was too heavy for Ian to shift by himself. Mickey grunted against the wood, his shoulder pressed to it as he shoved it with all of his body weight, but he always managed it, moving the wood in front of the fort like a door, shutting them out from the rest of the world. They had made it deep inside the woods, covered by trees and bushes so no sun could creep in and no people could find them - Their own private world.

"Did you give a shit?" Mickey asked and Ian's mind flashed with images of Debbie, crying and asking if he was still her brother, of Frank shrugging and collapsing onto the sofa, of Lip and Fiona and the awkward silences that had fallen between them in the days after the news broke. He thought of his new family, his second family, and the differences between them - they were upper-middle class, respectable and suburban and everything that Ian wasn't. Clayton looked like him; his brother Jacob looked like him, but that was as deep as the similarities went.

He remembered his first summer at Clayton and Lucy's home - the awkward tension that weighed down their shoulders, Jacob throwing his toys at Ian and refusing to share anything that was his - his dad included. He remembered days upon days of sitting up in the guest room and listening to Lucy's raised voice, listening late at night to the quiet sobs that came from the bathroom - tears that Ian had caused, just by existing. He remembered his heart aching and his head pounding with the urge to cry each night, wishing to go home, only to remember that, for that first year, he wasn't quite sure where home was.

He looked at Mickey and didn't understand the sudden urge to spill all of that to him, to tell him how much the first summer sucked, how much he had fought and protested and refused to let go of Fiona's waist when it came time to come back, not wanting to leave the comfort of his home. His home that had once again began feeling like his - with his family, his brothers and sisters and his dad, Frank.

Instead he just shrugged. "Not really. Didn't really get it. Just got to go on a really boring holiday for the summer."

"Ay!" Mickey protested, flicking what was left of the spider guts on his thumb towards Ian, who just laughed and threw the remainder of his red vine back at him, "fuck you."

"Not--" a blush crept up Ian's neck, coloring his face as he scratched at the back of his head, "It's fun when you're here." he admitted with an embarrassed smile.

Mickey looked at him for a minute, his face somehow void of emotion and yet so full at the same time, like there was something brimming under the surface, his face like a mask, concealing it.

After a moment, he smiled back.

****

Two more weeks of sun and days hiding in their fort passed and suddenly it was all over. The summer ended, far too soon, and before Ian knew it he was gone, back to Chicago and away from Mickey.

************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old ice cream truck driver tries to groom Ian with free ice cream and extra chocolate. There's a hand touch, but nothing else. Ian is acting as a distraction for Mickey to steal icepops and knows what is happening.


	3. Ian Gallagher: Aged 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puberty is in full swing and has both Ian and Mickey by their newly hairy balls.

**Aged 14**

_ Tonight _

_ We are young _

_ So let’s set the world on fire _

_ We can burn brighter than the sun _

**\- Fun, We Are Young.**

"That'll be $14.50." the cashier, Brad, asked, barely concealing the laugh building in his throat as he looked between the items he was currently bagging and the young looking ginger boy in front of him.

"Uh wait, these are all together." A shorter, older looking dark haired boy cut in, adding three more items to the conveyor belt. Brad looked between the two boys who were shaking with the laughs that they were trying – and failing - to hide, and the three new items - rope, duct tape and fluffy handcuffs.

"You got any ID?" he asked and the dark haired boy scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb before chucking him an ID that was so clearly fake that Brad just scoffed at it. "Thanks, Hector." He just raised his eyebrows as the boy nodded at him, eyes hard and just daring him to challenge it. Brad just sniffed and looked down as he scanned the items. Hector smacked his arm out against the ginger boy's stomach. The ginger boy retaliated by prodding a finger into his ribs and Hector flinched away, scowling. The ginger boy just laughed.

Picking up the bag that contained the cucumber, extra-large condoms and bottle of watermelon flavored lube, Brad handed both bags to the ginger haired boy and cleared his throat, "Looks like a fun night ahead of you, boys."

And he couldn't help the laugh that slipped out of his mouth as Hector lost it, his whole body vibrating as he busted out laughing, making the ginger boy's face flush for a moment before he threw some money down and shoved the bags into Hector's arms before he pulled him away, a barely muttered thanks thrown in Brad's direction.

****

They got outside the shop and Mickey was still cracking up with laughter. He collapsed against the window of the shop and bent in half, trying to catch his breath. Ian had never seen Mickey laugh so much and he didn't get it because, frankly, he was humiliated.

He couldn't believe he had let Mickey convince him to do that. It was so stupid. He was mortified.

"Your face!" Mickey managed to say, breathless, before collapsing in another fit of laughter.

The handle of one of the bags broke and the cucumber hit the floor, rolling away from them and Mickey just laughed harder, "Jesus, Gallagher."

"Shut up." Ian barked, feeling his cheeks heat up once again, but he couldn't fight the smile that was growing on his face. It was a little funny.

He picked up the cucumber and avoided the gaze of the group of women across from him who were staring at Mickey like he was a crazy person.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Mickey's upper arm and picking up the contents of the bag, pocketing them before pulling Mickey away, "let's get out of here."

****

They walked all the way back through town, sweaty and sticky and far too hot, until they made it back to their fort. Their fort now had the new comforts of a beat up old boom box dragged out of Mickey's mom's garage and a lightsaber that glowed red propped up in the corner to provide light for when it got dark. It also had three or four blankets, as well as a bunch of pillows and cushions spread over the floor to make it more comfortable.

Ian was sat down, NOT pouting (despite what Mickey said) and puffing on a cigarette. He had been seriously questioning his entire friendship with Mickey. All week Mickey had been laughing at him, like it was his fault that his voice sometimes cracked or that his body decided to have some crazy growth spurt and make him look all stretched out and lanky. He was friends with an asshole.

"Whatever man, quit your bitching. It's fucking puberty, same shit's happening to me." Ian sniffed, looking up at Mickey and it was only then that he realized he had been speaking aloud,

"...whatever." Mickey just laughed to himself and adjusted the pillows that were propping his head up. Shifting slightly higher so he wasn't completely on the ground, he went back to peeling slices off of the cucumber with his pocket knife and sliding them into his mouth. Ian just rolled his eyes. He hoped the knife cut Mickey's mouth, that'd teach him.

"Fuck you, grouch." Mickey replied before launching the still mostly whole cucumber at Ian. It hit Ian square in the side and he groaned, rubbing his hand along his side for a moment before he crawled over and picked up the light saber at the exact moment Mickey threw himself, stomach down, across the floor to where Ian was previously sat and picked up the cucumber.

Ian was on him before he even had the chance to properly turn himself around. Mickey laughed, husky and loud, as Ian grinned and held the light saber under his chin. Mickey jutted his chin away, baring his neck to Ian. Ian ran the tip of the light saber along the line that trailed down his neck and finished at his collarbone and he didn't understand why he had done it.

Mickey's breath stuttered before he looked back up at Ian and he grinned wolfishly before whacking the cucumber against Ian's side. Ian's head tipped back in a hearty laugh as the cucumber snapped against his hip bone. Mickey looked up at Ian as the part of the cucumber not in Mickey's hand drooped against his knuckles, swinging idly, hanging on by a thread.

Mickey blinked. "Fuck."

Ian grinned down at him, one knee pressed against Mickey's chest, the light saber glowing red against mickey's windpipe, "Say it."

"It?" Mickey asked, his eyes on Ian,

"That I won." he stated, like it was obvious. His grin never faltered.

Mickey nodded and dropped his hands either side of them, pushing himself up slightly, almost toppling Ian backwards, "Alright. You---" His hand shot up, covering Ian's face as his free hand gripped at his side and pushed him backwards. He followed after him, sending them into a messy heap on the other side of the tent, Ian breathing a groan out against Mickey's palm.

"Fucker." Ian bit out before gripping his thighs tight around Mickey's waist and squeezing, just like he'd been taught last semester in his ROTC warm up classes. He was joining the ROTC program when he went back to school in the fall and he couldn't wait. He twisted the two of them so that Mickey fell underneath him. Mickey’s back and head collided with the floor and his hand dropped from Ian's face. Ian laughed at the scowl that fell on Mickey's face before he covered it with his hand, in the same position Mickey had his face in just moments before.

Mickey bit out a curse under Ian's hand and Ian laughed as Mickey's legs kicked, trying to throw him off from where he was straddling his waist, keeping him pinned down. He felt teeth sink into the fleshiest part of his hand and he quickly jerked it back, away from Mickey. He fell back into the space between Mickey's knees and kicked his ankle against Mickey's ribs, "You fucking bit me."

"Pussy." Mickey snorted before sitting up and charging forward, knocking Ian back against the mat.

Ian blinked, his brain rattling around in his head for a moment, before he reached up and hit the heel of his hand against Mickey's chest, just like he'd practiced in class and Mickey hissed as it connected and jerked backwards. Ian propped himself up on his elbows and grinned, "Truce?"

Mickey eyed him for a moment and let out a breath through his nose, before he nodded, "Fine."

He bit the inside of his cheek as he reached over to the edge of the tent and grabbed his cigarette packet, pulling out a joint and sticking it between his lips, his legs still tangled in Ian's, "I won."

"Fucking didn't." Ian argued, flicking both of his feet against Mick's thighs and watched as he lit up the joint, cradling it between his fingers as he sucked in a breath.

He watched as Mickey let out a long breath, a cloud of smoke covering him from Ian's sight for a moment before it cleared. Mickey saw Ian looking and raised the joint slightly, flicking his eyes towards it before raising his eyebrows at Ian, "What, you want some?"

Ian didn't say anything, just nodded and Mickey scratched at his cheek, got that look on his face - an almost guilty look that always annoyed Ian and made him want to reassure Mickey that he wasn't leading him astray, "You done this before?" Mickey asked as he shifted up to a proper sitting position, one leg still tangled with Ian's comfortably and the other one bent up, his forearm resting on the knee, his hand hanging limply as he flicked the ash from the joint onto his trouser leg.

"Once." Ian admitted, watching as the ash tumbled down Mickey's leg, like a boulder down a mountain, into a crease below the cuff of his trousers, "With Lip."

Mickey took another pull on the joint, not even flinching when Ian pulled at his sweats and palmed out the crease, rubbing over where the ash had fallen, "You do everything with that brother o' yours?"

"Yeah." Ian said as he rubbed his ash stained hand down his t-shirt, "He's like my best friend."

Mickey nodded, sniffed as he handed Ian the joint, "I got a sister like that - follows me ‘round everywhere."

"Sister?" Ian asked, one eye closed as he took in a lungful of smoke, "I thought you just had brothers."

"Na, man." Mickey's eyes raked over his face as he took a hit on the joint, the guilt barely there but still visible, at least to Ian "her name's Mandy." he said before he wiped his mouth on the shoulder of his t-shirt.

Ian frowned and took another hit before handing the joint back over to Mickey, the tent now getting filled with the smoke and the fumes, "Why'd you never mention her?"

Mickey shrugged, considered it for a moment before glancing up at Ian "I don't know. Never came up."

Ian felt when the weed hit him, his senses dulled and his eyes grew heavy. He wiped his hand over his face as he felt a stupid smile pull at his cheeks that wouldn't go away "...what's she like?"

“Annoying.” Mickey grinned, his eyes squinted, the most genuine smile Ian had seen from him in a while "Fucking badass, man. Fights better than me."

Ian rolled his eyes "Oh God."

Mickey laughed with the joint trapped between his lips "Ha, she'd eat you alive, man."

Ian raised his eyebrows, nodded because it was probably true. "You miss her when you come here?"

Mickey's mouth twitched as he handed Ian the joint, not quite looking at him, "Wh-- it's like seven weeks man, that's all."

Ian shrugged, eyes on Mickey, "I miss my brothers and sisters."

Mickey played idly with the laces of his shoe for a moment; still not looking at Ian when he admitted "...I speak to her most nights."

The grin on Ian's face grew bigger. For some reason he felt his heart stutter in his chest and he frowned because that had never happened before. "You do?"

Mickey flicked a rolled up piece of rubbish at Ian's face and Ian's reactions were too dulled to stop it. He just watched as it fell beneath the collar of his shirt and rolled his eyes at the impressed look on Mickey's face. "...Yeah."

Ian smiled at Mickey, his eyes half shut and his cheeks hurting and Mickey just scoffed at him, "shut up."

"That's nice." Ian commented and Mickey just blinked down at the ground, cheeks red, 

"Fuck you."

****

"Smoking, Ian?"

"What?" Ian asked, shrugging off of his coat, avoiding Lucy's eyes as he hung it up on the hook.

"You reek of it, you smell disgusting. I will not allow this in my home, Ian." Out the corner of his eye, Ian could see her with her hands on her hips, trying to burn holes into him with just a look. Ian was so high that he thought for a moment he could actually feel it, "Well... have you anything to say for yourself?"

Clayton was now standing behind Lucy, eyes trailing over Ian, noticing the ash stain on Ian's vest. Ian blinked between the two of them before shrugging and traipsing up the stairs to the guest room, not even bothering to take his shoes off. He was going to pay for that in the morning.

A little while later, after the shouting downstairs had quieted down and Jacob had stormed up to his bedroom, cursing Ian loud enough for him to hear for causing yet another argument, a knock came on the bedroom door.

Without waiting for a response, Clayton walked in holding a plate of food that smelt so good Ian wanted to sob. He sat up from where he'd been laying on his bed, finding shapes in the patterns on the ceiling and Clayton forced a smile at him as he closed the door. "Figured you'd need this."

Ian wiped a hand lazily across his cheek and looked up at Clayton, sitting up properly, his eyes on the plate full of food, "Ah you're the best, dad."

Clayton had a small smile on his face as he placed the plate down in front of Ian on the bed and he leant in close to him, talking lowly, "Don't tell Lucy I let you eat this up here. She'll kill me."

Ian grinned at his dad; a lazy, genuine smile, "Don't doubt it for a second."

Clayton perched awkwardly on the end of the bed and tugged on his ear, eyes studying Ian as he ate, before saying, "Y'know I went through a phase like this when I was your age."

It took Ian a second to understand what he meant, but then Clayton gestured towards his eyes, which he knew were still red and he snorted, "You?" he asked dubiously, "Mr. Suburbia?"

Clayton had the cheek to look offended at the comment, as if he wasn't wearing a sweater vest.

"Hey. I may live in the suburbs now, but I didn't always."

"Hard to believe you grew up with Frank." Ian admitted, biting into a roast potato and groaning at how good it tasted.

"It was your first time?"

Ian eyed him, a frown feeling heavy on his face, before he nodded. He knew why Clayton was doing this, knew why he was playing the cool, laidback dad. He knew it was the only way Clayton felt he was able to relate to Ian. Ian, for as much as it made him feel awkward, he appreciated the effort. He tried to imagine the reaction from both Clayton and Lucy if Jacob ever came in stoned and laughed. "...Yeah."

"Do you have any plans on doing it again?"

Ian just shrugged, looked down at his food and heard Clayton take in a shaky breath, unconfident, "I’d appreciate it if you wouldn't."

"Why?" Ian snapped, harsher than he meant to.

"Lucy will find out eventually. I would like for you to be able to keep coming here."

Clayton seemed so genuine, so torn and Ian hesitated, looking over his face, the most honest and open that Ian had ever seen him, before he nodded, "I won't do it again."

"Good," Clayton smiled "Now eat up, there's mint choc chip for dessert." Clayton patted Ian's knee and stood up.

Ian usually hated mint choc chip but right now it sounded like the best dessert ever.

*****

Clayton, despite the sour lemon look on his face that said otherwise, told Ian that it was okay for him to stay at Mickey's for the night. Ian didn't even hesitate, just grabbed his toothbrush and said a hurried goodbye to his dad, barely even listening as his dad told him to be back for dinner the following day and running all the way back to the park.

It was his first ever sleepover and he knew that he was fourteen now and that he should be cooler about it, but he was excited. He had never been allowed before, had spent more nights than he'd care to admit pouting in the guest room at his dad's house and ignoring him because he had once again said no. That's why he hadn't lingered when his dad finally said yes - didn't want to give him time to change his mind.

Mickey was already waiting for him, perched against the yellow metal fence that separated the park from the rest of the field and he saw Mickey's eyes roll in his head when Ian didn't have a bag with him.

Ian scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck and bit his cheek to stop from smiling.

He stopped in front of Mickey and Mickey was puffing on a cigarette, pointedly looking away from Ian and Ian laughed. "He said yes!"

Mickey's head whipped round to face him, reeling back to blow his smoke away from them when he saw how close Ian was standing, "what?"

Ian grinned, wide and child-like, before he patted Mickey's back, "Let's go. Come on."

****

That night they got high together after almost two weeks of Ian refusing. Ian's toes were wiggling against Mickey's sheets and Mickey had rolled his eyes at Ian so many times that evening that Ian just ignored him now. He was excited, okay? Sue him.

He took a drag of the joint and relaxed back against Mickey's pillows. He was grinning stupidly and rambling about how he had never been to a sleepover before. He couldn't seem to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth and he felt like a complete idiot, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"Shut up, okay?" Ian argued after Mickey had rolled his eyes again, a groan accompanying it, "I've never been to a sleepover before."

He expected Mickey to laugh at him, prepared himself for Mickey to laugh at him.

Instead Mickey just scratched at his ear, looking uncomfortable before he admitted, "I've never had anyone to sleep over before." he shrugged and avoided Ian's eyes, concentrating on the game he was playing, "I guess it's kind of cool."

"It's fucking awesome." Ian countered, sitting up and taking the controller from Mickey.

"Dork." Mickey snorted, but it was light and teasing and Ian knew Mickey didn't mean it at all.


	4. Ian Gallagher: Aged 15 Part One

**Aged 15.**

_ “And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow _

_ in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” _

**― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby**

  
  


Ian was perched on the kitchen counter, his ass numb and his face red from beer and the heat of so many bodies crammed into one room. He'd never been here before, on this side of town. It somehow put him on edge and kind of felt like home at the same time. There were people here, all older than him, that would've fit in comfortably back home in the South side. They were all people he would've served at his new part time job at the Kash 'n' Grab, they were people he would've passed on the street and bumped shoulders with at the bar. They were people that would've high fived Lip and checked out Fiona as they walked past them. They were the same as his neighbours and the people he went to school with.

A few people had snorted at Ian when he first arrived - so baby faced and a face full of freckles, he looked like he didn't fit in here. But Mickey had stood by his side and glared at everyone who attempted to say anything. And all of them, each one, backed down and instead tipped their head in a nod at him or thrusted a beer in his direction. Ian didn't know how Mickey knew all the people at the party when he spent almost all of his time with Ian, but Ian knew Mickey wasn't in the mood to answer all the questions he had.

Mickey's eyebrow was split open and one side of his face was blackened and swollen and without even having to ask, Ian knew they were from Mickey's new stepdad. Mickey had been grumbling about him since the beginning of summer a couple of weeks ago - he hadn't gone in to too much detail, never did, but Ian got the jist of what was happening under the roof of Mickey's summer home.

Ian had always suspected that a few of the string of guys that Mickey's mom brought through the house weren't always friendly. He remembered the bruises on Mickey's arms and chest that went unexplained or were answered with a scowl and Ian had always known what to say or what to do to make Mickey feel better. He sometimes even snuck Mickey into his room if Mickey was dawdling and making excuses for Ian to stay out longer. Mickey never stayed the night but he stayed until he was sure that whoever was currently residing in his home would be asleep. Ian usually knew how to make Mickey forget about everything going on at home, but today he had no clue.

When Mickey had turned up with the bruises and had snapped at him, Ian didn't know what to do or what to say or even how to act, so he had followed Mickey around quietly, like he had during Mickey's moody days that very first summer, and he let Mickey do whatever he wanted, walked with him wherever he wanted to go and let Mickey carry the conversations.

That was how they ended up here, far away from Ian's dad's house and far too late in the evening for Ian to ever make it back in time for curfew. Ian didn't care though. He was here with his best friend, finally seeing more than just a glimpse of Mickey's world, and he was actually enjoying it.

It was so close to Ian's world back home that he found himself smiling, wondering if they would've still been friends if they had met in any other way besides as kids on a sunny day in a park in the middle of a town that was so foreign to them.

"Ay, you want in on this?" Mickey asked, looking up at Ian. His forehead was sweaty and he was wearing a beige jacket half zipped up and Ian could see bruises along the skin that was visible that disappeared under his vest and into the sleeve of his jacket so Ian didn't question why he refused to take it off. Ian wasn't so sure he even wanted to see what was under there.

"Uh..." he looked down at the rolled up papers that Mickey had in his hand. He'd been around Frank long enough to know what it was. He nodded his head and held out his hand, rolling his eyes at that same guilty look that flashed across Mickey's face. Ian didn't see it as much anymore, but he still fought back the urge to smack it away whenever it did crop up.

Mickey smirked at him, scratching at his ear before they clinked their beer bottles together and bombed the speed down their throats to an eruption of cheers from the guys around them. Ian grinned and accepted another beer from a guy with huge pupils and a sweaty face and just enjoyed the warm feeling that curled up in his stomach.

As the night went on the warm feeling seemed to stretch up and grow round his entire body. He was sweating and euphoric and had so much energy that he didn't know what to do with it. It was the best night of his life.

He felt alive, confident and loving and he just wanted to hug somebody and share the warmth that was making his whole body tingle, alive with electricity. He felt like a king. Mickey was laughing at him for smiling so much, he didn't seem to realise that he was smiling just as much back. Ian couldn't help it, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out and touching Mickey, just holding onto his upper arm and running his fingers along the fabric of his jacket. It felt amazing. He felt all the hairs on his arms stand up like a line of dutiful soldiers as he held on to Mickey, didn't understand it, didn't even care to. He was happy; he was on top of the world.

Mickey was talking to him but Ian couldn't even take in the words, he just focused on Mickey's neck as he swigged at his beer, noticing the way his Adam's apple bobbed with the movement and he dug his fingers under his thighs to stop from reaching over and touching it.

****

The party was still in full swing when the two of them decided to leave. The sun was beginning to warm up in the sky and they stumbled through the streets, talking too loudly about everything and nothing and just laughing, laughing so much. After spending the day seeing Mickey so moody, Ian loved seeing him like this - So free and not a care in the world. He'd relaxed, let go and had fun and Ian thought that he didn't get to see Mickey do that enough. He'd stuck by Ian's side and it was just the two of them in a room full of people, back in their own private bubble, talking and listening to the music as the drugs and the alcohol and so much more pumped through their veins.

Ian felt on top of the world, not even heights could scare him now.

Mickey came to a stop a few doors down from his house and made a show of tying his shoe. Ian could hear birds chirping in the sky and the sun was warm on his back as it made its way higher into the sky. He heard the slamming of a front door and the start of an engine and nothing clicked until he saw a van pulling out of Mickey's driveway, chugging its way down the block, away from the two of them. Mickey's stepdad. Mickey had planned the whole night. Mickey had timed when he was allowed to go home. Ian bit his tongue to stop from commenting.

But then Mickey was looking up at him, grinning like he couldn't help it and he grabbed Ian's face between his thumb and fingers and it was probably too hard, but to Ian it just felt good. Great. He smiled back and Mickey pulled him along by his wrist and didn't let go until they were in the safety and darkness of Mickey's room.

The blinds were drawn shut and it smelt of warmth and Cheetos and lemon body wash and there were clothes in random piles all over the floor, dumped wherever they were taken off. Some smelt faintly of washing powder, like the one Fiona used, and Ian inhaled as a rush of memories of his sisters and brothers washed over him. Mickey kicked off his shoes and glanced at Ian, unsure for a moment, before he pulled off his jacket, revealing the daisy chain of bruises along his arms.

Ian pretended not too notice, busied himself by walking over to the shelf in the corner of Mickey's room. There were random ornaments, stones and shells that had obviously been picked up over the years; there were old VHS tapes and pictures without frames, curled at the corners. Ian picked them up, smoothed the edges out and looked at them. There was one of a young blonde haired boy on top of a man’s shoulders, one of the same blonde haired boy with a group of kids, all dark haired, all with the same blue eyes. There was one more of the blonde boy with... Mickey's mom.

He looked closer at the boy and saw a familiar scowl. He whipped his head round to face Mickey and his cheeks hurt with how much he was grinning, but it only grew wider when he realized, "you're blonde?"

Mickey, who was now lying spread-eagled on his bed, launched a soft ball at him and told him to shut up, "Do you dye your hair?!" He asked, incredulous, tempted to pocket one of the pictures and use it for any future blackmailing needs.

"No, stupid." Mickey replied and Ian could all but feel the roll of Mickey's eyes, "It just got darker as I got older. That happens to people that ain't ginger."

Ian just laughed and turned and faced the shelf again. His fingers twitched and he reached out, wiping the dust off of the VHS tapes and arranging them neatly along the shelf. He propped the pictures up using the stones and spread out the shells until he was happy with it.

He moved around in the corner, touching and organizing and tidying anything he could find. He didn't even know why he was doing it except he had energy, not quite as much as before, but enough and he felt the need to burn it out. He picked up a pile of dirty clothes and moved them into the laundry basket that was empty except for a broken hanger and a belt. 

He was pacing around the room and he could feel Mickey's eyes following him around from where he was laying on the bed. He was fidgeting and seemed restless on top of the covers, but looked like he had no desire to move. Ian bent down and picked up the soft basketball that Mickey had thrown at him and spent the next two minutes organizing it perfectly on Mickey's shelf.

"Fuck, Gallagher! Stop touching my shit." Mickey cursed as he sipped on another beer, his thumb running idly round the rim, "Jeez, just… sit still for a minute."

Ian turned to look at him and flexed his hands before patting them rhythmically against his thighs, "I can't."

And Ian was smiling that stupid smile of his again and Mickey really hoped that his jaw would hurt in the morning. He ran his thumb along the line of his bottom lip and raked his eyes over Ian.

He almost smiled at Ian's twitching fingers and it only grew when he saw Ian's teeth worrying his bottom lip under Mickey's gaze.

Before his brain could kick into gear and realize what he was doing, Mickey reached out his hand and pulled Ian down onto the bed, on top of him and he could hear as Ian's breath caught in his throat, could feel where Ian's hands found Mickey's waist almost unconsciously. Ian looked, wide-eyed and unsure, up at him. Mickey felt his heart hammer against his ribs and before he could stop himself, before he could question it, he angled his head up closer to Ian's and let out a small breath over Ian's mouth before he clpsed the distance between them, and captured Ian's lips between his own.


	5. Ian Gallagher: Aged 15 Part Two

**Aged 15.**

_Cigarettes and innocence are scattered on the floor_

**\- Ron Pope.**

Ian had no idea what was happening or what he was doing, lying here on top of Mickey, their bodies moving together, rubbing and grinding and their hands roaming; their lips pressing together, more confident with each passing minute, no longer awkward and unsure. He didn't know what any of it meant, if it even meant anything, he didn't know anything except that this - Mickey lying beneath him, the weight of the two of them - it felt good. Great. And he didn't know if it was the drugs or the fact that it was Mickey, but suddenly everything felt right and all of Ian's unanswered questions about lingering gazes and hands and the times his mind went to Mickey when he was alone in the shower -they were all answered.

Ian sucked up a mark on Mickey's neck and it was all teeth and too much saliva, but Mickey didn't seem to mind. He lifted his hips against Ian's, pulled Ian down closer to him and Ian let out a gasp of breath that was more like a moan into the crook of Mickey's neck. He should've felt embarrassed, would've, except for the fact that it was Mickey underneath him. Mickey who had been witness to or heard about every embarrassing thing he had done since he was nine years old.

Ian had had kisses before; he knew Mickey had had kisses before. They'd spoke about them, in their nights spent under the fort - they'd spoken of masturbating and girls and boys and every sexual thing they had ever tried, but this was different. This was better than all the previous things they had ever experimented with, because they knew each other. They knew each other inside out, in the best and worst ways.

They were both sweating and hot, far too hot despite the fact that they'd shed half of their clothes, It was skin against skin and Ian's mouth was warm over Mickey's chest as he bit and kissed at it, taking in every moan and shaking breath that escaped Mickey's mouth.

They stunk of alcohol and it should have been gross and Ian was far too aware of the drugs buzzing around in his system and he looked terrible, worse than he'd ever looked, but he didn't care. Not now with Mickey underneath him in the darkness of his bedroom.

****

Ian had heard Frank talk about the devil-horned beast that was the almighty Comedown, using it as his excuse for a beer first thing in the morning, but Ian had always just nodded his head and assumed Frank was exaggerating or making it up completely. When he opened his eyes that evening, he found out that Frank was not lying. In fact he saw Frank in a whole new light, wanted to commend him and hand him awards and trophies for dealing with this on a daily basis. His head pounded against the back of his skull and his eyes were dry and heavy and he thanked God, Oprah and Ellen that Mickey had blackout blinds on all of his windows and that the sun had almost gone down, because he was pretty sure any direct sunlight would burn his eyes right out of his skull.

He looked over at Mickey who was sound asleep next to him, mouth open and drooling onto his pillow. He grunted, brain like cotton, before he blinked and looked around for his trousers, finding them half under Mickey's bed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, cursing the bright light as he unlocked it. Shit. 

Thirteen missed calls. All from Clayton.

Ian took a moment to swallow back a wave of nausea that crashed in his stomach like waves against a rock, before he typed out a message to his dad letting him know that he was ok, he got caught up and he would be home soon.

He slumped back against the pillows and fell straight back asleep.

*****

Mickey's head didn't hurt too badly. In fact he felt fine other than the taste in his mouth and a dull ache somewhere in the back of his brain. Ian was sleeping next to him, nose pushed up against the pillow and he was snoring lightly, not enough to make Mickey want to smother him with a pillow.

He reached over and checked Ian's cell phone, saw that it was just after eight PM. He let out a groan and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He jumped when he heard the front door slamming, startled Ian awake. His stepdad was home. Fuck. He blinked down at Ian for a moment and didn't want to know the expression Ian saw there.

Shaking at Ian's shoulder, Mickey stood up and started pacing the room, picking up random bits of clothing and trying to figure out which were Ian's,

"Fuck man, get up!" He whispered harshly, not looking in Ian's direction, "You gotta go. Tommy's back."

Ian blindly stumbled his way out of the bed and pulled on his trousers. He rubbed the back of his hand against his eye and yawned; nostrils flared and mouth open wide. "Shirt."

"What?" Mickey snapped and Ian would've rolled his eyes if he wasn't so sure the movement would kill him.

"I can't find my shirt." he bitched, kicking at the clothes all jumbled in a heap on the floor.

"Fuck, Jus--" Mickey chucked him the beige jacket he had in his hands and rubbed at his nose before opening the window and pointing Ian to it.

Ian climbed out of it, onto the garage roof and just jumped. His brain rattled so hard in his head when he landed on the patch of grass beneath Mickey's window that he thought he saw stars.

He was so disoriented from everything that happened in the last twenty four hours that it was only when he was outside of Mickey's block that his heart started to race too fast in his chest, making it hard to breathe as he realized the height that he had jumped from.

He didn't let himself question how it always seemed to be whenever he was with Mickey that he forgot to be afraid.

****

"Damnit Ian, you're a mess! Where have you been?" Clayton's voice cut through him like knives and he had to close his eyes to try and shut out the noise and the glaring lights and, just, everything.

"Mickey's," He grumbled, lazily making his way up the steps.

"What, that's all you've got to say for yourself? I was worried sick!"

"Don't be." Ian barely even spared him a glance before he carried on walking, not stopping until he was inside his bedroom and able to crash on his bed and sleep.

******

_"It's going to be legen--- I hope you're not lactose intolerant because the end of this word is-dairy"_

**\- Barney Stinson, HIMYM**

He woke up late the next day, later than usual and his stomach was cramping with hunger. He text Mickey's cell, told him he'd be late and to wait for him. He didn't receive a reply.

Ian waited for nearly two hours at the park and it was almost lunchtime by the time he gave up and went back home.

The next four days were the same.

Ian texted and texted, and waited hour after hour but Mickey never showed.

He never replied except for once. On Thursday Ian had text him, asking

To: **The Mouse**

_Where u? u sik? Should I come 2 ur house?_

He had received a response twenty minutes later that simply said

From: **The Mouse**

_No. Busy._

Ian had given up waiting after that, instead he took to staying holed up in the guest room at his dad's house. He spent the whole of the next week listening to the silence that rang through his dad's house as his dad and stepmom sat in silence, a thousand unspoken words bouncing between them, unanswered questions that always lingered more with Ian's presence. He listened to the sounds of Jacob kicking his ball repeatedly against the outside wall of the bedroom Ian was in. He listened to the music until the battery drained and he listened to the sounds of his brothers and sisters back home talking about their summers and what they'd been up to.

He did absolutely everything to distract himself from Mickey and what had happened between them.

****

After two days of Ian being holed up in the guest bedroom at Clayton’s, a grumpy looking Jacob walked in without knocking. Ian just blinked at him, studying his younger brother that had once been his complete double and sighed at the differences between them that were no longer just everything else about their lives, but physically now too. Where Ian had begun to fill out and shoot up, Jacob was still small, his cheeks still chubby and covered in freckles where Ian's face had matured, grown slim and his freckles faded.

"What?" Ian asked, monotone,

"My dad wants to know why you haven't left the room."

Ian scoffed and frowned down at his bed sheets, "Tell _your_ dad - I don't want to."

Jacob smirked, cocky, as he leant against the wall by Ian's door, "have you fallen out with your boyfriend?"

"Fuck you, Jacob." Ian spat, harshly, not missing the way Jacob flinched.

He composed himself quickly, folding his arms across his chest "Mom's going to be mad if she hears you swearing."

Ian fought the urge to roll his eyes. Some people never change. "Get out, Jacob."

Jacob let an impatient breath out of his nose and picked a hole in the wallpaper of the wall he was leaning on, not bothering to look at his older brother, "You wanna play soccer in the backyard?"

"Did your dad make you ask that?" Ian asked, bitterly.

"Get $10 for doing it." Jacob answered smugly, crinkling the money between his fingertips.

"No." Ian bit out,

"Fine." Jacob shrugged, "You coming down for dinner?"

"Do you care?"

"Sure" Jacob replied in a tone that said completely the opposite.

Running a hand over his face, wishing he was back at him with his real brothers and sisters, Ian just sighed "...I'll be down for dinner."

Jacob just nodded and left, leaving the bedroom door wide open.

********

After a little under a week of what was absolutely not moping (despite what his dad called it) Ian was told that his little cousin Nathan was coming to stay - who he had never heard of -and it was up to him to take him out for the day - when he knew nothing about the kid - and take care of him.

Ian had protested, used the excuse that the kid - despite the matching hair colour - wasn't even related to him and if he wanted to spend the summer hiding out in a room, then he could.That was when Lucy had stepped in and told Ian that she was in the middle of renovating the dining room and the last thing she needed was a kid running around her ankles for the entire day.

So, practically pushed out the door, Ian made his way to the park with his little cousin.

Nathan was chatting away in his ear about stuff he wasn't paying attention too and asking Ian questions that he wasn't answering and he had already decided that the day was going to be the worst day ever.

The last thing Ian expected to see was Mickey. Perched on the edge of the yellow, metal fence and puffing on a cigarette, looking around as if he was waiting for someone.

Ian had every intention of ignoring him, of not acknowledging him in any way, but then Mickey was headed towards him, dropping his cigarette to the floor and tucking one hand under the waistband of his black joggers in a habit that Ian still found annoying.

He came to a stop in front of Ian and Ian looked away from him, down at Nathan who was looking up at Mickey with his eyes wide, brimming with curiosity and questions and Ian almost smiled at how much the little fucker reminded him of his youngest sister Debbie.

"...Didn't know if you were still here or not." Mickey said, fingers scratching at his cheek, still not quite looking at Ian as he admitted, "Been here the last few days."

Ian cast his eyes to the ground, feeling more awkward than he had ever felt around Mickey, "...uh, yeah. I didn't really see any point in coming."

Looking down at Nathan, Mickey curled his lip. "Who are you?"

"Nathan." the seven year old answered with childish enthusiasm, and if he picked up on any hostility from Mickey he didn’t show it, instead he just smiled up at Mickey like he held the Earth’s biggest secrets. Ian wondered then what people thought when they saw him looking at Mickey.

Turning to look back at Ian with a questioning look written on his face, Mickey raised his eyebrows and Ian chewed at the inside of his cheek before he offered an explanation. "He's my cousin."

Mickey raked his eyes over Ian’s face before he looked back down at the kid like he was diseased, "You stuck with him for the day?" he asked and Ian shrugged as Nathan looked between the two older boys, eyes wide and curious.

"Till four."

Mickey sniffed and looked over the younger boy once more before he tipped his head, "Come on. I got something to show you."

****

Ian held Nathan's hand as they walked block after block, taking shortcuts through alleyways and climbing over fences. They were mostly hidden from the sun thanks to the shade provided by buildings, but the sun was still too hot on Ian’s skin, turning the visible patches of skin pink and sore. Nathan’s face was cherry red by the time Mickey began leading them through some woods.

Mickey’s shoulders and the back of his neck were still pale, barely touched at all by the sun and Ian was tempted to slap his arm to see if it would still sting. Before he wouldn’t have hesitated, he would have smacked the skin just to see if it was sunburnt after all and then ran before Mickey had a chance to slap him back, but he didn’t know if that was allowed now. He didn’t know if things were able to go back to normal or if Mickey would pull away again and freak out at any contact. 

So, unsure of what was happening, Ian had hung back with Nathan for the entire walk, barely speaking, just letting Mickey take the lead. He didn’t know what Mickey was thinking, he could normally tell by Mickey’s expression but Mickey hadn’t turned his head back to look at him for the entire walk. Ian wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

They were walking deep in the woods, different woods to the ones that he and Mickey usually fucked about in, and they were surrounded by nothing but trees and broken branches. It was dark where they were, shafts of light barely able to seep through the gaps between the trees and Ian squeezed Nathan’s hand tighter to let him know not to be scared.

Suddenly Mickey came to a halt, gesturing for them to stop with a flick of his hand. He turned back, finally facing the two red headed boys and looked down at Nathan while he kicked at the wooden panels of a fence, "Ay kid?"

"Yeah?" Nathan asked, his voice small.

"You know how to keep your mouth shut?" Mickey asked, the last word coming out as more of a grunt as he finally kicked through one of the loosened wooden panels.

"Yeah."

Mickey wiped a hand over his face and it was only then that Ian realised his black eye was completely gone and the cut on his eyebrow had almost healed. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in a while, but his clothes were clean and his hair was styled differently. Almost like he had made an effort. "You tell anyone about this and I'll be pissed off, gottit?"

Nathan just nodded his head and tightened his grip on Ian's hand, "Come on."

Mickey grinned and Ian wondered if Mickey was being nice to the kid on purpose, to make it up to Ian for ignoring him. "There's ice pops in it for you."

Mickey gestured with his head for the kid to go through the small gap in the broken fence. Nathan did and Ian hesitated for a moment, looking up at Mickey. 

Mickey met his eyes and Ian ignored the way his stomach tripped over itself before he pushed himself through the fence after Nathan.

Nathan smiled at Ian like climbing through a broken fence was the most amazing thing he had ever done. Ian had met Lucy’s sister once and was 92% sure that it was probably true, she was almost worse than Lucy when it came to mollycoddling. He clapped Nathan on the shoulder and let out a laugh as Mickey jostled in after them, tearing a hole in the bottom of his joggers on a jagged piece of wood. He cursed so loudly that Nathan gasped before letting out a laugh that he hid behind his hand.

Ian looked down at him and thought that the kid might actually be pretty cool.

Instead of reaching for Ian’s hand again, Nathan walked by Mickey's side, asking him a hundred different questions, not seeming to care when Mickey either didn't reply or just grunted out one word answers. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he walked; his excitement practically tangible and Ian chewed on his lip when Mickey turned and glared at him without any real heat for trailing behind and leaving him with the kid.

They walked a short walk down a long abandoned pathway, trees blocking them either side, and Ian was close to asking what the hell Mickey was playing at and where was he even taking them when he saw it - a beat up ice cream truck.

He turned back to face Mickey with his eyebrows crinkled, "You steal this?"

“No I didn’t steal it.” Mickey looked at him pointedly, as if judging Ian for even asking, like the idea of Mickey stealing something was so shocking. "Old guy driving it died. I found it with the keys still in."

Ian looked between the truck and Mickey for a moment, dubious, before breaking out into a grin.

****

Nathan and Mickey were on the roof of the truck, Mickey with his legs dangling over the edge and Nathan pacing up and down, excited and hyper from all the sugar he'd consumed.

He was talking a hundred miles a minute and there had been no room for awkwardness between Ian and Mickey, thanks to Nathan's constant questions and his newfound love for Mickey. He hadn't left Mickey's side all day, even asking Ian to put him on the roof when Mickey climbed up there.

Ian was sat on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, biting into an ice cream, focusing entirely on that when he heard Mickey snort to himself.

"What?" he asked, squinting up at Mickey with a mouth full of chocolatey ice cream.

"Such a pussy."

"What?" Ian asked again, voice high pitched and confused.

"Get up here." Mickey demanded, a smile playing on his lips, taunting.

Ian just flipped him off and ignored Mickey’s laughter.

*****

"YEAH!" Nathan cheered, his voice high and overflowing with excitement as Mickey tackled Ian to the ground, "Get the ball Mickey! We're gonna win!!"

Mickey let out a breath, his whole body on top of Ian's, pressed into him from the impact of crashing to the ground. He could see the rolled up socks that they were using as a ball in Ian's hand, all he had to do was grab it, chuck it to Nathan and they had won the game.

But Ian was looking at him, swallowing too hard and his breathing was heavy and Mickey couldn't bring himself to look away, despite how much he wanted too.

They lay there, just staring, looking, and breathing the other one in. The entire world could’ve fallen apart around him and neither of them would’ve noticed.

It wasn't until Nathan's voice, full of concern and barely concealed worry, came from by the truck that Mickey broke the contact, "Are you guys hurt?"

Mickey smirked down at Ian, raked his eyes over his face and bit down on his bottom lip before grabbing the socks and pushing himself up, chucking them over to Nathan.

Ian caught his breath and stood up, brushing himself down. Nathan was jumping around, cheering and celebrating, and Ian laughed before he run over, tackling him to the ground.

****

"Ian," Lucy snarled, "You were supposed to have Nathan home two hours ago!" she scolded, her eyes lit like flames as she pulled Nathan to her, away from Ian.

"Relax, honey." Clayton's voice shook, always the peace keeper. He reached a hand over to Lucy and quickly drew it back under her murderous glare. "They're home now."

"Late!" She yelled, "I would not accept this from Jacob and I’m certainly not accepting it from him!" Lucy looked at Ian like he was something she had trodden on and fifteen years later he still wouldn't wipe off the bottom of her shoe.

"Look - Ian is sorry." Clayton reasoned, "He's a kid, he lost track of time. Nathan's not hurt."

Nathan grinned up at his aunt and she pulled him closer to her, her arm across his chest, stopping him from moving away. "We played football and ate ice pops. It was fun Aunt Lucy!"

"Look," Ian shrugged, "I'm sorry he's late - it was my fault. The clock on my cell doesn't work, I lost track of time." He answered, sullenly. His fault. Yet again.

"Of course it's your fault." she breathed out, like everything was his fault and Ian snorted out a breath like he hadn't expected anything different, "Don't think you're leaving this house for the next week."

He screwed up his face in protest, "You can't ground me!"

Her face seemed to lower into a scary calm, her eyes hard and cold and Ian had never seen her look so empty before. Her mouth wrinkled as she spoke, her voice tight "Whilst you are in my house I can do as I wish. I can't trust you and your friends," she spat, looking Mickey over, who just grinned back at her. "to return on time - then you will not leave."

"Honey," Clayton started, pushing his glasses up his face, "isn't that---"

"He's grounded, Clayton." Lucy squeaked, struggling to keep her cool, "or he goes back to his home."

Clayton looked at Ian, eyes full of apologies for a moment before they flashed with annoyance to Mickey who laughed heartily next to Ian.

"Is there something funny?" Lucy asked, voice clipped,

"Yeah!" Mickey snorted.

Ian looked over at him with a small smile threatening to burst out on his face and he just flipped him off.

"Ian!" Lucy bit out and Mickey laughed harder, clapping Ian on the shoulder, turning to walk down the path.

"Later, Gallagher."

And as Mickey walked down the street he laughed and scuffed his shoe against the ground, ignoring the twist in his stomach as he heard Lucy ask why Ian insisted on hanging out with people like him.

****

Ian took a long drag on the cigarette between his lips and let out a sigh as smoke billowed out of his nose like a bull, "Your mom gonna be pissed you snuck out?"

Ian looked out onto the garage roof from where he was sprawled out on the windowsill. Mickey was sitting up, facing him, and playing with the stones littered across where he was sat.

"Not my mom," Ian sniffed, sounding something close to petulant, "And she's gotta find out first."

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian's tone - sore subject then. He looked Ian over and rubbed at his nose before commenting, "She's got your old man on a tight leash huh?"

Ian clenched his jaw and shook his head. Mickey had never seen Ian angry, not like he had been since he arrived tonight. He'd snuck out and turned up just after ten and Mickey had just smirked because apparently the little fucker actually had a pair of balls, "He's such a ..."

"Pussy?" Mickey offered,

Ian looked almost defeated as he nodded, "...yeah."

Mickey didn't know what to do or say, was rubbish with all that sentimental stuff, so he just grinned at Ian, "Maybe that's where you get it from, huh?"

Ian just glared at him, "fuck you I’m not a pussy."

"Oh?" Mickey snorted "you're not?"

"No." Ian rolled his eyes towards Mickey and took a pull on his cigarette, "you're the pussy." He replied in a voice that was too close to serious for Mickey to be comfortable.

"How the fuck did you figure that?" He asked, his voice sharp. He didn't expect it when Ian just raised his eyebrows at him like he was stupid for even needing to ask why. Mickey shifted uncomfortably and mentally kicked himself because he knew Ian was right.

"Whatever, man." He swallowed, not wanting to bring up any subjects about the last couple of weeks "at least I’m not pussy whipped like your old man."

Ian just shrugged and half leant out of the window as he handed Mickey the cigarette. "They were arguing. When I left."

"What about?" Mickey asked, taking a pull on the cigarette and wiping the cherry along the gravelled roof, leaving a trail of ash in its wake.

"Me.” Ian tucked his knees under his chest and looked so small that Mickey ducked his head, not used to seeing Ian look so vulnerable. “As usual."

Mickey frowned at that, wouldn't look up at Ian as he fought down a spike of anger that bloomed in his chest. He'd always hated that Lucy bitch. "What like it's your problem your old man can't keep his dick in his pants?"

Ian glanced up, studying the top corner of the window, "She can't stand me is all. I…" He huffed out a breath, "I'm just sick o' hearing how all their problems in life are somehow my fault."

Ian had never really vented to Mickey before about the tension at home, so Mickey had never thought to bring it up, just thought that most of it rolled off Ian's back. He clenched his teeth together, swallowed back his anger at the upset look on Ian's face and hoped that Lucy got into a nasty accident and fell down some stairs, "Have you met that fucking woman? Thinks her shit smells o' roses - if it ain't your existence causing shit it'll just be something else. Anything other than the true fact that she's miserable as shit."

Ian was silent for a moment and Mickey scratched awkwardly at his cheek, wondering if he said too much or the wrong thing. But then Ian laughed and Mickey had to fight back a smile at the sound, didn't realize how much he'd missed it.

"What? What the fuck are you laughing at?"

"Her shit smells o' roses?" Ian asked, laughing again and Mickey just snorted and shook his head,

"Whatever, man."


	6. Ian Gallagher: Aged 15 Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip comes to town.
> 
> Listen, I could write 10,000 words on all the reasons why I love Lip and think that he and Mickey could be fantastic as besties, but this chapter is already pretty long, so I'll spare you guys.
> 
> This is probably my favourite chapter, tbh. I remember writing this and just wanting to write and write and write. Writing as Lip isnt my string suit, but I just 11/10 love him as a character, even with all his faults and terrible personality traits.
> 
> Thanks for all the love, guys! I appreciate you all!

**Aged 15:**

_ “Summertime is always the best of what might be.” _

**― Charles Bowden**

Mickey hadn't managed to get any sleep. Ian was passed out beside him, curled into the far end of the mattress, leaving as much space between the two of them as possible as he snored into the pillow.

Mickey breathed out a puff of smoke and watched with tired eyes as tendrils of grey flirted with the air and swirled around him, a grey cloud forming over his head, before it disappeared into thin air.

He glanced over to his window, his head starting to hurt, his brain aching from avoiding the thoughts that had been trying to creep into his mind since the moment he'd seen Ian that afternoon, the first time since the night of the party. 

The sun was starting to come up, peeking through the darkness, rays sneaking in through Mickey's windows and lighting up his room.

He checked the time on his cell phone. Five AM. He rubbed his eyes and glared at the ceiling as though it offended him before he looked over at Ian, kicking his ankles lightly, waking him from his sleep. Ian grunted in return and pulled the sheet up to his eyes, frowning and scrunching his eyes closed.

"It's almost 5am man, ain't your dad going to be up soon?"

Ian grunted, pushing Mickey's hand away as he rapped his knuckles lightly against Ian’s shoulder, fingers skimming over his goose pimpled flesh.

"Get up, then. Get home."

Ian rubbed his eyes and blinked up at Mickey, looking pissed off "I' a minute."

"Whatever - you're going to get grounded for the rest of the summer if they find out."

Ian lifts his head up from the pillow, eyes tired and squinted, his hair sticking up in every direction "You make it sound like you're gonna miss me, Mick."

Mickey rolled his eyes and curled his toes into his mattress. He seriously questioned his sanity sometimes - why was he friends with this prick again?

"Fuck you is what I’m gonna miss."

Ian dragged himself up from the bed and bent down to pick up his shirt from the floor. As he slipped it on over his head he pretended he didn't see Mickey looking at him.

"You got anything for breakfast?"

Mickey snorted, looking down at the cigarette between his fingers, "What does this look like, the fucking Hilton Hotel?"

"You could always just say 'no'."

Mickey reached into the drawer of his bedside cabinet, glancing over at Ian before throwing him a KitKat. Ian caught it with a laugh as the chocolate bar hit his chest. He slid his feet into his shoes and smirked over at Mickey "Mmm, dinner, breakfast and a bed for the night - maybe this is the Hilton."

"Just get the fuck out."

Ian laughed as he opened the bedroom door, "Does that make you Paris or Nicky?"

Ian just managed to shut the door behind him when he heard the sound of a shoe hitting the wood.

****

"Yo, your brother - reckon he can get down here with a bunch of the shit he sells on his truck?" Mickey asked, spreading out the bags of candy along one of the shelves of a truck to make it look like there was more than there was. His entire stock was dwindling and he had almost got caught the last time he had done a run on a store in town and he didn't fancy risking it again.

"What, smokes and stuff?" Ian replied, sucking noisily on a rocket lolly, his feet propped up on the counter. Mickey thought about kicking his feet away, but Ian had only been ungrounded for an hour and a half and he didn't fancy pissing him off just yet. Instead, he stole the lolly from Ian's mouth and hopped up on the freezer, biting a chunk of the chocolate from the top.

"Yeah." he answered and Ian just pursed his lips at him, eyebrows raised in the most serious bitch face Mickey had ever seen. He just laughed and chucked Ian a packet of red vines.

"I can ask." Ian shrugged, seemingly satisfied with his replacement candy.

Mickey had tried to spend as much of his week as he could without Ian hiding out in his room, but his mom got sick of him after the second day and told him to get out of her sight. So for the rest of the week he had gone back to the house where the party had been thrown and spent three days getting higher than he had ever been. The days had dragged despite the fact that he spent most afternoons sleeping off whatever weed was in his system.

The guys he had hung out with were older, contacts of Iggy’s from when Iggy had been in juvie a couple of years back, and they were cool enough. They gave Mickey good deals on their weed and didn’t ask Mickey annoying questions like Ian did; they didn’t push him and slap at his sunburn like Ian did and they didn’t make him talk about shit he didn’t want to talk about like Ian did - but still Mickey found himself bored out of his brain. He would never admit it out loud – he could barely admit it to himself – but he had missed Ian challenging him on everything and pissing him off, because the fucker always had a sarcastic answer ready and prepared to fire at him.

So when Ian had text his cell, telling him he was ungrounded and jumping in the shower and for Mickey to meet him in half an hour at the park, Mickey didn’t mind skipping breakfast for it. He would never tell Ian that he arrived at the park fifteen minutes early and smoked the entirety of what was left of his smokes.

"Well, do it. I wanna start selling some o' this shit." Mickey gestured round the truck, his legs kicking against the freezer noisily, and juice from the rocket lolly wetting his lips, "Might as well make some money."

Ian glanced from Mickey's wet lips up to his eyes and nodded, biting into his candy with a sigh, "Sure."

****

Lip joined them three days later, getting the train in from Chicago. Lucy had not been impressed.

Clayton had agreed to Lip staying for two nights if only Ian agreed to eat dinner with them both nights. Ian had sighed and nodded, knowing that he and Lip would have an early curfew. But it would be worth it. Ian was kind of excited for Lip to meet his best friend.

Lip had always done the brotherly thing and, when Ian would arrive home after the summer, he would always ask questions and tease him about his middle-class life in the suburbs. He had always told Ian that it was great that he wasn’t an offspring of Frank’s and he asked questions about Clayton quite often. Ian thought he had mostly just been interested in ways to scam more money from him, but when Ian had called and asked him to come up Lip had jumped at the chance. Ian knew Lip hated having Frank’s blood in his veins, especially after Frank slept with his girlfriend Karen last winter, and Ian often wondered what Lip would have turned out like if he was Clayton’s son instead. He thought of his summers stuck in Chicago, and he thought of not knowing Mickey and suddenly Lip’s jibes about middle-class suburbia didn’t seem too hard to take.

"Back at 7.30 for dinner, boys." Clayton reminded from his spot in the kitchen doorway as Ian hurried to get his shoes on.

"Can Mickey come?" Ian asked with a knowing smile and Lucy pursed her lips at him as she walked down the stairs, un-amused.

"No."

"Your friend?" Lip asked, looking between Lucy and Ian and he had that falsely pleasant expression on his face that he always used when he was trying to butter people up, "What are you not a fan of him, Aunt Lucy?"

Lucy's mouth loosened just a fraction under Lip's small smile and Ian wanted to roll his eyes. Lip could worm his way in anywhere if he tried hard enough.

"We, uh... We believe that he's not the best company for Ian." Clayton answered before Lucy had the chance to open her mouth. Always the peacekeeper.

Ian huffed out an aggravated breath as he slipped on Mickey's beige hoodie, a knot of anger pulling tight in his stomach, "And I've told you, I don't care what you think. He's my best friend."

"Ian." Lucy warned and Ian just pulled open the front door, ignoring her.

"Whatever.” He cut her off, facing away from her just to piss her off. “Come on Lip." He stepped outside, playing with the zipper of his hoodie before he looked up at Lip. His brother looked back at him with a look on his face that Ian couldn't quite describe.

Lip hoisted a huge overnight bag onto his shoulder and lifted his hand in a polite wave. Ian glared up at the sky.

"See ya tonight, Clayton. Bye, Aunt Lucy."

"Goodbye, Philip." Lucy replied, something close to pleasant and Ian actually scoffed in disbelief shoving Lip away from him. Lip just laughed.

****

"You been here five fucking minutes, how is it she already likes you?" Ian asked as he unloaded the bag of stuff onto the freezer of the truck.

Mickey had met them both at the end of the block, and drove them back to the deserted woods. When Lip first saw Mickey he had raised his eyebrows at Ian and laughed at the way Ian jabbed Mickey in the thigh to force him to say hello.

Lip lit up a cigarette and greeted him, telling him his name. It had fallen silent after that and Ian had rolled his eyes and glared at Lip until he started a conversation.

After ten minutes of awkward small talk, the pair had exchanged stories of fights that they had been in, scams they had pulled. Their favourite subject, apparently, was embarrassing stories that involved Ian. Ian just thought they were pricks.

"Yeah, Firecrotch has been trying to get in Her Royal Highness' good books since the moment he fucking got here."

Ian smacked a carton of smokes into Mickey's chest and Mickey let out a husky laugh as Ian clenched his jaw, "Fuck you, no I haven't. And I told you not to call me that."

"She does seem..."

"Stuck up her own ass?" Mickey offered and Lip smirked around a cigarette,

"I was going to say high maintenance, but that works." Lip replied, eyeing Mickey who spared him a glance before he started stocking the shelves with the individual packs of cigarettes.

"Shit, Lip." Ian breathed out, opening a black garbage bag to find it was full of weed, already weighed and bagged.

"Ah, yeah." Lip said with a lungful of smoke, "Kev gave it to us. Should've seen the amount of weed he grew this year man, it was fucking nuts. Vee wouldn't let him keep all of it so he said to sell it on here or smoke it, whatever."

"Nice. Wanna roll one?" Mickey asked and Lip nodded.

"Grinders in there somewhere." He said, before he turned round and began fiddling with the radio.

"Ah, that don't work.” Mickey said, pulling out a grinder with a ying yang print on the front. “Busted a few weeks back."

"Want me to fix it?" Lip asked, eyebrows crinkling as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

"What are you, some kind of genius?" Mickey asked as he opened up a baggie and took a whiff, primo stuff. He snorted as Ian fumbled with some fireworks, watching with a grin as they scattered to the ground.

"Kinda." Ian answered, acknowledging Mickey's snort with a glare. "He's a complete know-it-all."

"You're just jealous cause I got the looks and the brains." Lip commented, not missing the way Mickey's eyes trailed over Ian’s face, lingering on his lips. He hid a smirk behind his hand as he took the cigarette from his mouth.

"Yeah," Ian replied, shoving a stack of candy onto the shelves in a messy pile, smirking at Mickey's glare as he began organizing the packets into some kind of order "Shame you're too stupid to do anything with 'em."

Lip groaned as he sunk further into the passenger seat, his feet against the window as he lay half on and half off the seat, his head ducked half under the dashboard as he pulled the radio out, "We're not having this argument again. I' m not going to college. Plenty of successful people have made their way in the world without college. It’s just a government run scheme to trick everybody into thinking they’re going to make good money when they graduate, when it really leaves them just as broke as they were before, except with thousands of dollars worth of debt they have to pay back."

"Whatever." Ian looked up and saw Mickey looking at him and he could see what Mickey was thinking, his thoughts written plainly on his face. He was seeing a whole different side to Ian – a side of family and squabbling. He was seeing a glimpse of Ian's world outside of the little Michigan suburb. Ian suddenly felt on show and embarrassed, his insides twisting in his stomach.

He chewed on his lip and tried to suppress a smile as he looked back. Eventually Mickey looked back down at the grinder in his hands and concentrated on rolling his joint, avoiding Ian's eyes after that.

****

"Ay yo, you want the ice pop or not, kid?" Mickey asked with a hard stare as he jerked the ice pop out of the young boy's hands.

The young boy suddenly seemed more willing to part with his money and Mickey took it before throwing the ice pop down on the grass, choosing to ignore the kid cursing him as he walked away.

Lip laughed from where he was laying down along the seats in the front of the truck, head still ducked under the radio, fiddling with some wires. Ian was perched on the floor beside him, holding the radio up to let the light in. Lip tilted his head so he could see Ian and, around a cigarette, he told him, "dude, you've gotta make some nicer friends."

Mickey just threw a snickers bar at his chest and bit into a marshmallow.

****

The three boys had made a killing that first day, only going to two different parks and already selling out of half their stock. Ian promised Mickey that he and Lip would be back out after they had finished dinner, but Mickey had shook his head and told him not to worry about it.

"I got shit to do anyways. Tomorrow though - Wanna get back out on the truck for about ten. That cool?"

Ian had nodded and told them they would be at the park for then, and they went their separate ways. Lip had tried to be subtle on the way home, asking questions about what Ian and Mickey got up to, Mickey’s life when he is not down in Michigan for the summer, and Ian answered all of them. He didn’t know why he was so eager for Lip to like Mickey, but he felt the need for it curled like a snake in the pit of his stomach, defensive and prepared to strike.

“What, you don’t like him?” He asked eventually as they dawdled under an underpass, smoking the last of their cigarettes.

“Na, he’s cool, man.” Lip answered with a tilt of his head, like he was giving some sort of approval. Ian didn’t understand it, just frowned at his brother for a moment before he threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.

“Come on. We can’t be late or I’ll get grounded again,” He said with a sigh and Lip laughed, teasing him the rest of the way home.

The next morning passed by slowly with barely three or four customers an hour. After Mickey pitching a fit at one customer who tried to tell him that he was overcharging on his weed, they closed up and Mickey drove them into the wooded area where he kept the truck parked up and hidden away.

The three of them smoked and talked, and Lip told Mickey more embarrassing stories of Ian growing up and Mickey provided a few of his own. Ian absolutely hated both of them.

They smoked until the weed and the warmth of the sun sent them to sleep; all three of them sprawled out on the small floor of the truck.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but Mickey's head was pounding when he woke up. He was dehydrated and hungry and his side was hurting from lying on the cold floor.

He went to stretch out and move and that was when he realized that he was laying really close to Ian. Their ankles were curled around each other, their knees pressed together and their fingers just about touching. He blinked his dry eyes open and looked across at Ian, just for a second, frowning in confusion before the morning's events came back to him. He fell backward with a groan as his back hit the floor of the truck. That was when he became aware of Lip. Lip who was looking at him with knowing eyes and a tight mouth. Mickey flicked his eyes towards the still sleeping Ian and back to Lip before he hurriedly pushed himself half-upright and shuffled away from Ian, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Lip kept his eyes on him but said nothing, just threw him a cigarette and Mickey had never felt more grateful in his life.

*****

The afternoon had passed more quickly. They tried a couple more parks and the customers had poured in. Mickey made a few phone calls on Lip's cell phone and drove them to the other side of town, near to the location of the party they attended, and managed to sell what was left of the fireworks.

They split the money between the three of them and brought McDonald's and beers with Lip' fake ID (that was much more believable than Mickey's old one, with a more realistic name for a pale, white kid). Lip promised to send him one in the post.

Lip spoke of his summers back in Chicago, of girls and neighbors and drunken fathers and he never once spoke about the relationship between the boys he was sat with. Mickey thought he might even like Lip for that.

Mickey could see the similarities between Ian and Lip. Physically they didn’t look all that alike, but they moved in sync with each other and they had similar mannerisms. The kind you share with people you spend a lot of time with. They argued and bickered over most things and Ian rolled his eyes with Lip even more so than he rolled his eyes at Mickey. Even when they weren’t talking or doing anything, there was a closeness between the two of them and Mickey had never seen anything like it.

Lip was pretty cool, he knew when to push and when to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t pry into Mickey’s life and even when him and Ian were talking about school and algorithms and stuff Mickey didn’t have a clue about, Lip never made Mickey feel dumb or unwelcome. He had a presence about him, a charm. Mickey understood what Ian meant now when he said his brother could fit in anywhere.

They drunk all the beers and Ian got red faced and tipsy. His laugh got higher, almost giggly, the more he drunk and eventually he fell asleep with his forehead slumped against Mickey's shoulder. Lip took a swig of his beer and didn't take his eyes off of Mickey for a long moment, that same knowing look that made Mickey’s stomach turn and twist, before he distracted himself with rolling a joint.

"I remember him coming home after his first couple of summers here. He hated it, refused to come back.” Lip said as he sprinkled the ground up weed into a rolling paper, “When Clayton would come to pick him up he'd cry and shout, wouldn't let go of Fiona. Second time Clayton picked him up, she had to sit in the car with him for an hour before he agreed to go."

"Told him he was a pussy." Mickey joked and Lip grinned, like he'd heard the joke before.

Mickey wondered if Ian spoke about him at home, wondered if he talked about Mickey with the same fondness that he spoke with when he talked of Lip and Fiona and his other siblings. He thought maybe he was beginning to understand why he cared so much about that.

"Then one time he comes home and he sticks up all these pictures, covers his entire wall with them. All of him and some skinny little short kid with black hair." Lip laughed at Mickey's glare and flicked his tongue along the edge of the paper and sealed the joint, "Anyway, next time Clayton came to pick him up, Ian was already out on the front porch with his bags packed, waiting for him. It's been the same ever since."

Mickey scratched awkwardly at his neck, kept his eyes on the floor and he didn't have a clue how to respond. He could hear Ian's light snores coming from next to him, felt the heat radiating from Ian spread through him and he thought of his lonely summers before he met Ian. He didn’t realise how alone he was until Ian came along. Ian somehow burrowed under his skin and never left, not even when Mickey was at his worst. He got the feeling that Lip was similar in that way – loyal almost to a fault.

Silence fell between him and Lip and he couldn't even bring himself to look up at him until Lip kicked at his ankle and handed him the joint.

He took a long drag, trying to shut off his brain and tipped his head back against the back of the seat, closing his eyes and relaxing.

****

"When you coming home?" Lip asked as he hitched his now half-empty bag over his shoulder. Lip's stay seemed to have come and gone in the blink of an eye and a part of Ian wished he could stay longer. The other part of him, the bigger part, couldn't wait to get back to his days of just him and Mickey. Although he wasn't really sure what that entailed anymore - since what happened the night of the party, they had only spent two days and one night alone together and had avoided the subject of them at all costs and he didn’t know if it would ever come up again. They were waiting for Lip's train to pull in and Mickey was pacing in circles impatiently, his fingers twitching in the way they always did when he wanted a cigarette, "Uh... Not sure. Two weeks I think, maybe three?"

Lip nodded as his train finally, twenty minutes late, pulled up. He pulled his brother in for a quick hug. "Alright. Remember to call Fi later? You know how she gets."

Lip pulled away and fixed Ian's collar before he slapped fondly at his cheek, "Yeah. I will."

"Later, Mick."

Mickey raised his hand in a wave and scratched at his temple as he watched Lip boarding the train, "Later."

Ian kept his eyes focused on the train until it was out of sight, then he turned back towards Mickey, who was already looking at him. Mickey quickly glanced down at the floor as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Ian worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before putting a hand between Mickey’s shoulders and guiding them away from the station.

Mickey shrugged Ian’s hand off of him and wouldn’t look at him as he lit up a cigarette. 

*****

After Lip left, and the days following, Mickey and Ian fell into a kind of awkwardness with each other. Not in the conversations they had but in the way that they moved around each other. In Lip's company they thought nothing of sprawling all over each other or bumping shoulders with each other. They spent the morning lulls on the truck play fighting and ignoring Lip as he rambled on about something or other to do with the workings of the radio.

But now that they were alone they seemed to move around each other, rather than with each other, careful not to step too close and not have too much contact. They seemed to move closer together without either of them realizing, only to quickly fidget away when one of them did. Ian didn't know what it was, but something seemed to have changed between them.

There was something crackling in the air, building between them, thick and tangible. Ian could taste it on his tongue, could see it with the awkward seconds of eye contact that they shared, could feel it when their fingers brushed accidentally when they passed a cigarette between them.

****

Ian didn't know how it happened. He really had no clue. One minute they were inside the fort listening to the CD as it crackled from the boom box and Mickey was teasing him about the polo shirt that Lucy had left out for him and made him wear. (They'd spent forty five minutes arguing about whether or not he was going to wear it, when she told him, looking more smug than he'd ever seen someone look over laundry, that she had already put the rest of his clothes in the wash and he had no other choice. Bitch. Mickey had seen him and laughed for ten straight

minutes. Asshole.) And then suddenly Mickey was lying on top of him and kissing him – Which he was still currently doing.

He had fought against it when he first felt Mickey's chapped lips push against his. He had shoved his hands against Mickey's chest and, for a moment, he had tried to push him away, tell him no - they couldn't do this, not after last time. Not after how Mickey had reacted. But the more he fought the more Mickey pressed against him, harder and more urgent, trying to talk with his actions rather than his words.

Ian pushed his head against the mat and looked up at Mickey with a confused frown, "We can't..."

Mickey smirked down at him, teeth biting down on his bottom lip, "why not?"

"Bu-- last time?"

Mickey shook his head and Ian felt nerves tear themselves open in his stomach and spread up through him like butterflies, "Don't worry about it."

Mickey ducked his head and he was kissing Ian again and Ian had to force a breath out of his nose, his brain working too fast, too many thought flying around as he tried to figure out what Mickey meant. He let out something that was embarrassingly close to a moan as Mickey's hands found his hair, his fingers tangling in the short red strands and tugging.

"Mick." Ian breathed, his hands snaking up under Mickey's t-shirt, fingers digging into the warm flesh of his sides. His protests died in his throat when Mickey pressed his body down into his. Ian could hear himself groan at the contact and he could feel as his face flushed even more with embarrassment at the choked noise that left his mouth when Mickey ground his hips against his own.

"Fuck," He whimpered and he felt Mickey smile against his lips. The hand in his hair pulled too hard and Ian hissed, tilting his head backwards, arching his neck.

"Wanted to do this," Mickey said, his voice husky and low as he moved his mouth down to Ian's bared neck, licking at the skin before raking his teeth over the pulse, feeling the beat under his lips.

"Jesus, Mick." Ian pulled at Mickey's shirt, tugging it over his head and Mickey grumbled at the lack of contact, "So impatient." Ian teased. He cupped his hand round the back of Mickey's neck and guided him back towards his mouth.

Mickey bit at Ian's bottom lip as his hands trailed over his clothed skin. His breathing was heavy, coming out in rasped pants of air and Ian needed a moment to take it all in. Part of him wanted to stop and pull away, scared of what would happen when it was over, but the other part of him just wanted more. More of Mickey. More of the two of them. Especially like this - inside their fort, their own private world, the thing that defined their childhoods and the summer project that had cemented their friendship. It felt even better sober than it did when he was drunk; when they were hidden by a blanket of darkness and protected by the excuse of the drugs in their veins. This was them, sober and thinking and it was all too much and not enough.

Ian was feeling too much. He was scared and excited and his skin felt like it was vibrating under Mickey's touch. He arched his hips up and caught Mickey's moan in his mouth, swallowing it like a secret. "Fuck, Gallagher" Mickey ducked his head, his forehead resting under Ian's chin as he worked one hand between the two of them, fumbling to undo both of their jeans.

Ian laughed as Mickey growled under his breath as he struggled to undo Ian's jeans. Ian kicked off his shoes and lifted his hips off the ground, angling them so Mickey could properly see what he was doing. As he pulled off his t-shirt, Mickey muttered something about buttons under his breath followed by a string of curse words. Ian's breathing was erratic as he stretched over to the corner of the fort, fingers scrambling for a long forgotten bag, hidden behind some pillows.

As Mickey fell back onto his knees and pulled Ian's jeans off, Ian fumbled through the bag and brought out a bottle that was cold against his hands from being shoved in a dark corner for so long. Butterflies danced in his stomach as his eyes met Mickey's and his heartbeat raced in his chest at the sight of Mickey darting his tongue out against his wet, swollen lips.

“Watermelon lube, really?" Mickey asked, his voice sounding more wrecked than Ian had ever heard it. It was a sound he wanted to hear again and again "You got fluffy handcuffs in there, too?”

“No.” Ian rolled his eyes, pushing himself half upright and feeling something light flutter in his chest when he realized that Mickey wasn’t backing out of this. Before when they were high they hadn’t stopped to speak, they had just moved and let it happen. Ian had been afraid to speak in case he ruined what was happening, but now, hearing Mickey talk and the look of need in his eyes, Ian felt himself relaxing, able to enjoy himself, "You got rid of those tying that kid up at the park for picking on that short kid, remember?"

Mickey laughed at the memory, his chest rising and falling quickly as he shuffled out of his jeans, "Does lube expire?" Ian asked, shaking the bottle before pursing his lips as he studied it "It's been sat here a while."

Mickey paused to kink an eyebrow at him before he concentrated on dragging down Ian's boxers and chucking them over his shoulder. "Do I give a shit? It's still wet ain't it?"

"You're an idiot." Ian laughed, falling back against the mat and pulling a grinning Mickey down with him as he clicked open the bottle lid.

****

It was silent in the fort afterwards. Ian sat with his knees brought up to his chest, quiet and lost in his head. He was relaxed, more relaxed than he had ever felt, but it swam at the edges with awkwardness. He didn't know what to say or how to act and all he could think about was how great he felt inside Mickey, how strong and how happy he had felt. It was a better high than the speed he had taken and he didn't think he would ever come down.

His cigarette was burned down to the butt and he didn't even remember taking a single pull. He was vaguely aware of Mickey somewhere to the side of him in his usual spot, but he couldn't focus enough to pay attention to him. All he could think about was the feeling spreading through him, warm and calm and happy, electricity tingling at the tips of his fingers.

Ian didn't know how long he had been sitting there for, how long they had been silent, but it must've been a while because it was Mickey who broke through the quiet first.

He was fully dressed now, pulling his shoes on his feet and Ian didn’t even remember seeing him move. “What time you going tomorrow?”

He looked up at Mickey’s face, half expecting him to seem different - look different or act different, but there was nothing. No visible proof of what had happened minutes before. He relaxed even more at the thought, at knowing that nothing had changed before he took a breath and pulled his polo shirt back over his head. “Jacob’s got a soccer tournament in the afternoon, they want to be back in time for it so we gotta leave at like eight.”

“In the morning?!” Mickey asked, his eyebrows screwed up.

Ian blew out a deep breath, “Fucking sucks. I wanted to get high and just sleep in.”

A beat of silence passed and Ian could hear Mickey stutter out a breath before looking back up at him, “So, uh…” Mickey scratched at his cheek and looked unsure of what he wanted to say.

“Not going to freak out again are you?” The words tumbled out of Ian's mouth before he could stop them. He could hear the unadulterated fear in his voice and wished that he could take it back.

He could feel his shoulders tense and his fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he prepared himself for Mickey's response.

When Mickey scoffed, defensive and ready to argue, Ian, despite the stuttering in his chest, expected it. What he didn't expect was Mickey biting at the inside of his cheek and shaking his head, his eyes not quite meeting Ian's.

A feeling like being stoned washed over him and the same dopey smile that he could never hide spread like butter across his face and he couldn’t take his eyes off of Mickey.

He hid his smile behind his forearm “So, next summer…”

Mickey nodded, confident but almost shy as he stood up, ducking his head against the top of the fort. His fingers drummed against his sides and he seemed antsy, like he'd suddenly been hit with a ball of energy, “Wanna go somewhere?”

“Where?” Ian asked as he pulled his jeans up over his hips, Mickey scratched at his eyebrow as he ran his eyes over Ian's body, “I don’t know man, just... anywhere, fuck.”

Ian just nodded and stood up, slipping into his shoes before following Mickey out of the fort.

****

They had been driving for what felt like hours when Mickey came to a stop. He pulled up in a field that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles, all green grass and hills. And the distinct smell of horse shit in the air. In front of where they parked there was a lake, a narrow body of water covered mostly by reeds and a few planks of wood that looked like it was once a short pier. The sun was still in the sky when they stepped out, low and setting, an orange glow casting over

them. The two boys lay on the hood of the car until it was well past dark, not really talking, just smoking and eating what was left of the stock until their stomachs swelled.

There was a cool breeze in the air, cold enough to give Ian goose bumps all down his arms, his breath coming out shaky as he exhaled the smoke of his cigarette, lost in his thoughts. Without a word Mickey stood up and Ian felt the truck dip moments later when Mickey stepped in the back. He felt the rumble of the engine as Mickey started the ignition and he sat up, crossing his legs in front of him before he turned his head to face Mickey.

Mickey was sat the other side of the glass in the driver’s seat, now wearing the beige jacket that Ian had left inside the truck. He was fiddling with the radio and there was something different about him. Something about his face was different and the way he carried himself. Ian thought he looked relaxed, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders; he didn't think he'd seen that look on Mickey before, not properly.

He turned back to face the lake as the sounds of some indie band that Lip always played at home came on, muffled, through the speakers. The car lights were on, sending a pattern of light across the water and Ian stared down at it, hoping to see a splash of movement, a ripple of water from a fish moving through the stream, but there was nothing. Except a shopping cart that was half sticking up out of the water with a plastic bag attached to the handle, flapping noisily in the breeze that occasionally blew past.

It was still, and all around them was silent, except for the crickets, the music and the rumble of the engine.

Mickey joined him back on the hood and passed him a cigarette before shrugging out of the jacket and chucking it over Ian's head. Ian let it fall down his face before he glared at Mickey who just laughed at him. Even his laugh was different - Something close to carefree. Ian pulled the jacket over his arms and zipped up, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Pussy." Mickey teased quietly, looking out at the water. Ian didn't complain when he edged closer and closer until their thighs were touching.

A warmth spread through Ian and he had to hide his mouth against his knee to stop from smiling.

****

Ian didn't even want to think about what time it was when Mickey pulled up half a block down from his dad's house. Lucy was going to be pissed. The night had passed far too quickly and Ian hadn't wanted it to end.

He handed his cigarette to Mickey and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, trying and failing to suppress a yawn as he asked, “When’d you go back?”

“Tuesday," Mickey answered, joining Ian with a yawn "Mom’s picking Mandy up in the morning, gonna spend the weekend with her here before we head back.”

“Sucks I’m heading home - wanted to meet her.”

Mickey frowned over at Ian, “Why?”

“See if she’s as scary as you make out.” Ian grinned and Mickey rolled his eyes with a hard done by sigh,

“Fucking is.”

Ian laughed under his breath and tucked his cold hands under the cuffs of Mickey's jacket, “I better go. Clayton’s on some family bonding bullshit – I've already missed dinner and they wanted me to watch a film with them.”

Mickey snorted, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and Ian whacked his hand against his chest at the sound, “Enjoy that.”

Ian yawned once again as he took off his seat belt, “I don’t know why he still thinks Lucy’s going to warm up to me at some point.”

“Lucy hasn’t even warmed up to him yet.” Mickey replied dryly and Ian smiled lopsidedly, scratching at the back of his head as he looked over at Mickey.

“Y’know it’s so hard to believe that he and Frank are even related. They’re like polar opposites.”

“It’s like my dad and my aunt," Mickey said, as he hit a button on the radio, turning it off. "She’s so fucking normal. Pays taxes and works at Walmart and shit.”

“Families are so weird.” Ian commented, wanting to continue the conversation. Mickey had told him loads of stories over the years about his dad and his family back home, but outside of fighting and pulling scams and tales of prison, Ian didn’t know much about them. He suddenly had an urge to find out everything.

Mickey snorted, “Tell me about it.” He looked Ian over and Ian, for one of the first times, couldn't tell what he was thinking. Before he could question it Mickey just swallowed audibly, cigarette still perched between his lips and gestured for Ian to leave, “Go on. Get the fuck outta here. I got places to be here.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ian rolled his eyes, opening the door and hopping out, “See you next summer, Mick.”

Mickey just flipped him off and drove away.

That night Ian slept with the beige jacket under his head like a pillow.


	7. Ian Gallagher: Aged 16

**Aged 16** .

_ “If it could only be like this always – always summer." _

\-  **Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited**

Mickey's mom threw a bag of value pasta onto the counter and slammed a jar of sauce down next to it, "Dinner!" she rasped around the cigarette between her lips. Ian looked at her side profile and noticed just how much Mickey resembled his mother. She was quite short, now with dark brown curls rather than the dyed blonde she used to have. She was slim with thick hips and muscular arms. Mickey had her nose and the color of her eyes.

"You gonna cook it?" Mickey asked, as his character tore Ian's apart with bullets, blood splattering the screen.

"What do I look like, your damn slave? You make it." She snapped, tucking a strand of curls behind her ears and pulling a beer out of the fridge, "Just save some for Jay, he's back late tonight."

It was raining outside today, heavy enough that the boys had to hide out at Mickey's moms. The sky was grey, clouded over and dull, so they had spent the day inside playing games on Mickey's stepdad's Xbox. They had spoken about their months at home - of sisters that were growing up too fast and brothers pulling dumb scams. They had spoken of jobs, and their lives and the weather outside.

"I ain't cooking for that Fuckhead." Mickey grumbled as he restarted a game and Ian wondered who Jay was and what happened to Tommy. He blinked away a red hot flash of anger at the thought of Tommy and hoped that Jay was different. 

From Mickey’s tone he was guessing he wasn’t.

"You'll do as your fucking told, Michael." his mom argued, her purse hitting against the crooked dinner table loudly. The table wobbled and the dirty plates stacked up on it rattled along with it.

"Fuck, you're bitchy today." Mickey said as he paused the game he was losing, and tossed her over his smokes. She caught them easily.

"Thanks." She rolled her eyes and stripped off her denim jacket, hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair, "You call your sister today?"

"Yeah."

"What she say?" she asked, sounded tired and worn out as she sparked up. 

Mickey looked over at his mom and gestured for his lighter, "That dad's a prick.” He replied as he caught the lighter in his hands, “The usual. She's seeing some guy." He sparked up his cigarette before handing it to Ian and pressing play on their game, the violent grunts and noises filling the room.

"Ooh," His mom murmured without enthusiasm, leafing through the basket of laundry, "She like him?"

"Likes him enough to tell me about him," Mickey shrugged, crinkling his nose as Ian’s character threw a grenade at his, "says she'll call you at the weekend about you going down there."

"Oh fuck, I forgot about that. Shopping." Ian kept his eyes focused on the TV as Mickey's mom pulled off her top in the kitchen and he saw Mickey roll his eyes beside him.

"You're taking her shopping?"

"Yeah." his mom answered, shrugging into the (size too small) top that she had pulled from the laundry and walking towards the stairs, "new school clothes and shit."

"You getting me stuff?" Mickey paused the game again and threw his arm over the back of the couch, arching himself round to face her. Ian could see black hairs under his armpits that weren’t there last summer and noticed how much Mickey was starting to fill out. He wasn’t as skinny as he was last year, his arms were more sculpted and his chest was larger. Ian rubbed the back of his hand over the tip of his nose and forced his eyes over to Mickey’s mom as she replied,

"I gotta put up with your ass all summer - you expect me to buy you shit too?"

"Yeah" Mickey snorted and his mom laughed, tired, loud and raspy, a sound Ian had never heard from her before.

"A pack of smokes and a new top? That do ya?" She asked and Ian looked between mother and son. He could see that they were close, despite the way that they spoke to each other. Mickey always told him of arguments and bickering between the two of them and Ian had always been intimidated by the sound of her. But he could see the fondness in her eyes and the happiness in her tired smile as she looked at her son.

She had stormy blue eyes that were tired, puffy bags and dark circles underneath them. She looked worn out in a way that seemed permanent. The lines on her face and the glazed over look in her eyes told the story of a woman who had fought hard throughout her entire life and, for a moment, Ian could see traces of his own mother in her and swallowed down the sadness that threatened to spill out of him.

"Sneakers, too."

"Alright, deal." Mickey's mom coughed around her cigarette, and kicked her shoes off besides the stairs, "Jeez kid, you've been wearing the same shitty clothes since you were 13, one mention of me taking your sister out and you're demanding new stuff?" Ian saw the playful smile on her lips, teasing. "That jealousy streak will get you nowhere."

"But it will get me new clothes." Mickey flicked his eyes towards her and she laughed, a little lighter than before, before she dragged herself up the stairs.

"If your friend is staying for dinner then you better cleanup."

"Whatever." Mickey mumbled, as he stole the cigarette back from Ian and turned back round to face the screen.

****

“Hey how comes your sister never visits?” Ian asked as he stood next to Mickey in front of the sink. Mickey was washing up the dishes, covered in soapsuds. Smoke from the cigarette perched between his lips curled up dangerously close to his eye. Ian smirked as Mickey's eye watered and he squeezed it shut. He reached over and wiped the soap bubbles that were resting in Mickey's spikes before he stole the cigarette from Mickey's mouth and took a drag.

Raising his eyebrows in what Ian had come to learn was a thank you, Mickey scratched his chin along the shoulder of his vest, “Cause my dad’s a prick.”

Ian considered it for a moment and just shrugged. If the stories about Mickey's father that he had heard over the years were anything close to the truth then it was a fully acceptable answer, “Thinks my ma is going to run off with us if she gets both of us." Mickey continued, rinsing the suds from a plate and holding it out to Ian "I was causing too much shit so they made a deal – I get sent here for the summer, Mandy spends Christmas and Thanksgiving here and ma sees her a few weekends during the holidays.”

“Fair enough.” Ian replied. The two of them fell back into a comfortable silence that washed over them as they settled back into the routine of washing, drying, stacking and putting away. Ian was lost in his thoughts, zoned out enough that when Mickey yelled, he jumped and almost sent a bowl to its death as it threatened to topple out of his hands towards the floor.

"Wh-- Jesus Ian, you're not even stackin’-- you can't put a small plate under a big plate."

Taking a breath to stop his racing heart, Ian glared at Mickey. "Are you serious right now?"

Mickey scratched at his ear, leaving behind a trail of bubbles, "Ju-- It's not Jenga, Ian, it makes it unbalanced." He muttered, gesturing towards the wobbling stack of plates on the kitchen counter.

Ian threw the dishcloth over his shoulder and crossed his arms, fighting the surprised smile that was edging slowly onto his face. "You're literally the filthiest person I know - I've seen you four days in the same clothes. How are we even having this conversation?"

Mickey returned Ian's previous glare before dunking his hands into the water, feeling around for the pan that he knew was in there. "Shut up! I like order. So what?"

"You're the messiest person I know, how does that work?"

Mickey leant on the edge of the sink, resting all of his weight on his palms and rolled his eyes, "Dude you just insulted me - twice. Plus - you've seen how I keep the truck, how is this weird for you?"

Ian just laughed and Mickey shook his head, flicking soap suds at him, "I just...”

Ian breathed out another laugh, cutting it short under Mickey's annoyed pout. "I don't know, never pictured you as domestic is all."

"Domes-- fuck you."

"No, no." Ian defended, putting his hands up either side of his head. "It's... it's cute. Really."

"You're a douchebag."

Ian laughed again and Mickey just shook his head, reaching over and whipping the dishcloth from Ian's shoulder. He dried his hands, wrapping each finger individually in the cloth, making sure they were fully dry before he threw it over what was still left drying on the side. The pan could wait.

He tipped his head towards the stairs, "Come on."

"What?" Ian asked, stepping towards him as he came to a stop at the foot of the stairs.

"Wanna fuck." Mickey burped, glancing over at Ian before trudging his way up the stairs.

"Would it kill you to at least be romantic about it?" Ian grumbled, following him up,

"You're such a fucking queer, dude."

Ian looked through the open gap in the door of Mickey’s mom’s bedroom and saw her sprawled out on top of the covers in the same way Mickey always slept. She was snoring softly and she still somehow looked tired and much older than she was.

"Says the guy that takes it up the ass." Ian quipped and let out a soft laugh when Mickey turned round at his bedroom door, his teeth over his bottom lip.

"Shut up and get in here."

He opened the door and gestured for Ian to go inside. Ian kinked his brow at him and Mickey just laughed, "Come on." he said, pulling him inside by his wrist.

****

Ian was sat on his usual position along the length of the windowsill. He was in his boxers, smoking a cigarette and frowning out of the window when he turned his head and looked at Mickey.

"My mom came back." he confessed and he didn't quite understand why. His voice cracked at the end and he cleared his throat, ducking his head from Mickey.

"What?" Mickey asked with his face screwed up. He didn't lift his head up, concentrating on loading the bong from where he was sat in his boxers at the end of his bed. Ian looked him over and saw how relaxed he was, how chilled out he seemed. Ian had spent the entire winter trying not to panic about what would happen when he returned, when the two of them returned, to Michigan. A huge part of him had worried about whether Mickey would even bother turning up at

all. He had kept his word though, so far no freak out.

"In the winter." Ian shrugged, fighting back a smile and not letting himself think about what it meant - that Mickey was here with him, laying around in their boxers and getting high. He looked back out the window as he took a long drag. "She just, I don't know, randomly turned up."

"Shit," Mickey breathed out, flicking his lighter against his palm. "What she want?"

Ian looked uncomfortable as he poked his tongue against the hollow of his cheek. 

Mickey would make a dirty comment at the action but he didn't think now was the time. Apparently his dick didn't get the memo as it twitched helplessly under the fabric of his underwear. "Money. As usual. She's married to this woman named Bob."

"Woman?"

"Yeah."

"She know about..." Mickey's teeth chewed soft indents into his bottom lip. He didn't know why he found it hard to ask the question. He concentrated on putting the bong to his lips and flicked his eyes up to Ian. "she know about you?"

Ian nodded, waited until the noise of Mickey taking his hit had passed before he spoke, "Yeah. Frank told her. He caught me in the back of the store with some kid from the neighborhood. He was so out of it I didn't even know he remembered."

“And he didn’t kill you?” Mickey snorted, trying to picture Ian's face when he realized his dad had just caught him pounding into a guy. "What'd your mom say?"

Ian breathed out a short laugh, "She took me to a gay club, you believe that?"

Mickey frowned, flicking the lighter against his open palm again. "What was it like?"

"Pretty fun." He admitted, almost sheepish, his eyes flitting around Mickey's face, gauging his reaction, "Would you go?"

"Fuck no, man. Bunch o' faggots drinking their fruity drinks."

Ian threw his socks at him and Mickey caught them with a laugh, almost spilling bong water everywhere. He dabbed at the splash that dripped onto his skin and looked up at Ian, shrugging one shoulder. "I actually went once."

Ian laughed, loud and disbelieving. "you did?"

"Once." Mickey stressed, "One of Mandy's best friends is a fag, he needed some shit sorting out. So I sorted it." Mickey laughed and stretched over, handing the bong to Ian, "Shit you see in those places man."

"Kinda cool though, right?"

Mickey nodded hesitantly and Ian just grinned at him.

"Your mom still around?" he asked, as he lay back against his sheets, one hand folded up under his head, the other one resting just under the waistband of his boxers. Ian flicked the lighter against the pipe of the bong and Mickey pretended not to see the crestfallen look on his face. Ian wouldn't look at him as he answered. "No."

****

The summer is different to the others before it; they spent the morning lulls on the ice cream truck exchanging sloppy blowjobs and lazy handjobs, too hot outside for anything more. Their bickering and fighting was resolved by their lips cutting off each other's sentences, swallowing back each other's words. Clayton and Ian fought over broken curfews and skipped dinners and Ian's attitude. Lucy threatened on more than one occasion to send Ian on the first train back to Chicago if his behavior continued.

That was how Ian found himself sat round the dinner table every night at 7.30 - him, Jacob, Clayton and Lucy. They were awkward in the ways that they always were - tension radiating from Lucy, still strong enough that Ian could taste it thick and heavy on his tongue, even after all these years, and Jacob speaking mostly about himself - rubbing his accomplishments in Ian's face, parading medals and trophies around like he was better than everyone. Ian sat quiet, ate his meal and nodded where it was necessary. Clayton tried every night to involve him in some kind of conversation. He even asked after Mickey. And every single time Lucy would cut him off, telling more stories of how proud of Jacob she was.

Mickey somehow managed to get a summer job, working weekend evenings in a diner, cleaning up after people. He was not happy. His new stepdad had apparently made him get it and Ian had laughed for ten straight minutes when he first saw Mickey in his uniform.

****

"Fuck you, Gallagher. Least I got a job." Mickey sniped, fixing the collar of his shirt.

"I have a job, Mick." Ian rolled his eyes and pointed at the orange hat cushioned on Mickey's head. "Just not one that requires me to wear that crime against fashion on my head."

"Y'know what - fuck you. I'm glad I got this fucking job, keeps me away from you for the whole damn weekend."

"Please," Ian laughed, "leave the hat on. I like it, really I do."

Mickey threw the hat at Ian's face and Ian caught it with a wide grin. He saw the flush of color tinting Mickey's cheeks and he laughed as he walked over to Mickey, pulling him closer by the collar of his black and white striped dress shirt.

"Fuck you." Mickey bitched, avoiding Ian's eyes as Ian put the hat back in place on his head.

"I'm just imagining you trying to bite your tongue, being polite to customers." Ian flicked his tongue out against the underside of Mickey's jaw and Mickey's breath caught in his throat as he tipped his head back, giving Ian better access.

"Smiling," Ian nipped a path down to Mickey's collarbone "talking" he sucked up a red mark on Mickey's flesh, "Would you like fries with that?" Ian asked as he tried to suppress his laugh, his voice low, husky, as he moved back up against Mickey's lips.

Mickey reared his head back and pulled the hat off his head, a scowl on his face and his eyes hard, "Y'know you're a fucking as--" His voice was cut off by Ian's mouth crashing onto his, pushing him backwards until his knees hit his bed and he fell backwards against it.

Ian lowered himself over Mickey, straddling his hips and raking his long fingers through the short spikes of Mickey's hair. Mickey moaned into Ian's mouth and Ian grinned into the kiss as Mickey's hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans.

"Uniform does it for ya, huh?" Mickey asked with a smirk and Ian raised his eyebrows,

"Seriously?"

Mickey darted his tongue out and rubbed it against the corner of his mouth, "What are you going to do without me for two nights a week huh?"

Ian screwed up his face, pretended to think about it, "I was thinking I could go to the park, stick up for some skinny little hoodrat, and maybe spend the rest of my summer building a fort with him."

"Oh. That's cute, Gallagher." Mickey deadpanned, his hands squeezing at Ian's ass cheeks as he lifted his hips, rubbing Ian against him, "You going to be thinking of me?" His breath was warm against Ian's ear as he raked his teeth over the lobe, a laugh building up in his throat, "While you're at home, jerking off on a Friday night."

Using his grip on Ian's ass, he pushed him down harder, listening to the changes in Ian's breathing as it became labored, more urgent, his hips rolling forward, pressing harder against Mickey.

He hummed his agreement into Mickey's neck, his lips tracing over the pulse point before he kissed his way up his jaw, "Thinking of you." he bit Mickey's chin playfully and grinned when Mickey squirmed away. His ticklish spot. "Like this."

He pressed his knee between Mickey's thighs and spread them apart before he positioned himself between Mickey's open legs. He rocked himself against him when Mickey's ankles crossed over behind his back, his thighs tightening around Ian's hips.

"Good." Mickey breathed out, his hands snaking up under Ian's shirt, his thumb tracing over one of Ian's nipples.

“Jealous.” Ian grinned as he rolled his hips against Mickey. Mickey suppressed a moan as Ian kissed him again, his tongue licking against Mickey's bottom lip. 

"Does this mean I get a discount on those cherry pies you guys sell?" he asked, yelping when Mickey twisted his nipple.

****

The summer seemed to pass faster than all the others before it. Days all blended into one and Ian wished he could capture it somehow, put it in a jar so he could take it out on a rainy day and replay all of his favorite moments. There were a lot of them. Moments with him and Mickey holed up in Mickey's bedroom or inside the fort, just the two of them. Moments on the truck, mocking the kids that walked by with their low-slung trousers and flat peaks, talking in slang that even the two of them hadn’t heard.

Days with Mickey ended before Ian could register them even really starting, while dinners at Clayton's dragged by painfully slowly, stretching into infinity while he waited for the clock to tick to nine, when he was allowed out again.

Friday nights without Mickey meant that Ian now spent with Clayton, just the two of them. Late Friday nights usually meant more arguments between Lucy and Clayton.

Between bowling and the movies, Ian got to see a different side to Clayton. He was still nervous and bumbling, he still wore sweater vests and beige corduroys, but he relaxed around Ian now. He laughed and even joked occasionally. Sometimes, rarely, Ian could picture him as the boy Frank described him as – witty and smart, scamming everyone he came across and downing a fifth of Jack faster than even Frank could.

One Friday night Ian pestered him so much that Clayton took him to dinner at the diner where Mickey worked. Mickey had seen him, glowered at him, and disappeared with a huff into the back room. Clayton had seen Mickey and rolled his eyes at Ian and Ian could see himself in the expression. He realized then just how much he resembled his father, just how different he was to his siblings back home. He had two separate lives, so completely opposite of one another and it sat uncomfortably in his gut. One was a life of struggle, of relationships bonded together through the hardest of times, ends barely being met and doing what they had to do to stay above water. But his life here, with his dad and with Mickey, a part of him craved it so much. The stability and the weight that slipped off his shoulders the moment he arrived. His life here was a safety net and even at home, back in the South Side, he often dreamt about being here full time. It was his brothers and sisters, the thought of ever being without them that kept him there. The thought of coming back to Michigan and not seeing Mickey, of living with Lucy and her anger, that stopped him from considering it.

"I should've known he was involved somewhere."

Ian just shrugged, a small smile on his face.

"How long has he worked here?" Clayton asked, folding his jacket over the back of his chair and taking a seat.

"About 3 weeks." Ian answered, smiling up at Mickey who was trying his hardest not to look in his direction.

"And you couldn't spend a few hours without him?"

Ian was too busy looking over at where Mickey had now given up ignoring him and was just glaring at him through the hatch that separated the kitchen from the registers. Ian just grinned wider at him.

"Ian?"

Ian looked down at Clayton and blinked, distracted, "huh?"

Clayton sighed deeply and shook his head, "Never mind. Go get me a shake."

****

“The food here is shit, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Mickey stated as he chucked a carton of fries and two burgers on to the table.

“Hello, Mickey.” Clayton smiled and Ian could hear the tension in his voice, “I was glad to hear that you have a job; congratulations.”

Mickey blinked over at Ian and scratched his ear, his head bowed. “uh, thanks.”

“So is it a permanent thing here, or just for the summer?”

“Uh, summer job.”

“And how is your mother?”

“Same as always.” Mickey answered flatly and Ian bit the inside of his cheek at the clear discomfort written on his face.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. Well I gotta get back to work.” Mickey sniffed and looked over at Ian before shaking his head, raising his hand in a wave before turning and heading back towards the kitchen.

“Ay, nice hat.” Ian laughed as he leant on his forearms on the table.

Mickey didn’t even turn and look at him, just flipped him off and carried on walking.

****

Before either of them knew it, the end of summer had rolled back around. It was Ian's last night and he had been called home for dinner yet again. It was coming up to nine thirty and there was still no sign of him.

Mickey was sat on his window sill, back propped against the wall and his fingers curved around the rim of a beer bottle. The sky was pitch black and he had lost track of the time hours ago, lost in the explosion of fireworks that erupted into the sky from his neighbor's garden. It had been a tradition of his for almost as long as he'd been coming here - his last week here was always around the same time as the neighbor's anniversary and each year they would celebrate with a huge BBQ

for the entire neighborhood and a fireworks display that lasted until the sun rays poked through the darkness and shook away the cobwebs of the night.

He heard a whistle and the rustling of what sounded like bushes in his front garden and he let out a laugh as he saw Ian looking up at him, finally here, one hand wrapped around a thick branch on the tree, shaking it. "Got your text." Ian called up to him and Mickey just nodded.

"Well get up here then." He called back with a burp. He chucked the empty bottle down to Ian and he could've sworn he saw Ian's eyes roll, even in the darkness. "Door's open. Bring up the rest o' the beers."

Ducking under the open window, Mickey stepped cautiously out onto the roof of the garage just outside of his bedroom as Ian jogged towards the house, out of sight. He took off his jacket, laid it down, spreading it out as far as it could go before he crouched down, and sat on top of it, ignoring the little stones that dug like needles into the cheeks of his ass. He laid his forearm on one knee, his leg bent, kicking against the gravel as the other leg hung freely over the edge of the roof. A rush of air hit his ankle as he swung it back and forth, listening to the sounds of his neighbor’s laughter as it echoed down the block.

"Got the beers." Came Ian's voice from behind him and Mickey turned his head, his throat going dry at the sight of Ian, his face glowing red as a firework lit up the sky and reflected through the window onto his face. Mickey put his cigarette in his mouth and took the case of beers from Ian's hands, the tips of their fingers touching for a moment. He placed them on the roof and ripped a bottle out from the cardboard casing.

Mickey looked back at Ian and saw the tension in the set of his mouth, the guarded fear in his eyes. Ian had told him that he had been afraid of heights ever since he and Lip had fought on top of the roof of the Alibi when he was six. He had fallen off onto the sloped roof a few feet below and had been stuck there for hours, until Stan had managed to coax him back up to the roof with the promise of free cola for the rest of the day. Mickey had spent many hours over the years mocking him for how shaky he got when faced with any heights and no doubt Ian could see the temptation to mock him now. Mickey bit the inside of his cheek to stop from commenting and instead wiped the residue from the beer bottle on his tank top before extending his hand to Ian and gesturing for Ian to reach out and take it.

Ian took Mickey's outstretched hand and his fingers twitched against Mickey's palm as he bowed through the window, wavering unsteadily as he stood back up straight, both of his feet hitting the gritted roof. Mickey guided him down, hand gripped onto his elbow until Ian's feet were dangling over the edge of the garage and they sat together, barely speaking, just watching through a fog of cigarette smoke as sparks of color shot into the sky like stems and bloomed out like flowers, the petals of greens and reds, golds and blues being picked apart,  _ he loves me, he loves me not  _ and coloring the sky before raining down back on to the ground. Ian found himself smiling at the colorful display, the echoing boom as the flame hit the gunpowder and another explosion of color shot into the air.

  
  


Mickey pretended not to notice Ian's knuckles as they turned white with the grip he had on the edge of the roof, protecting himself from falling.

***

Ian had only ever seen fireworks once before, when he was nine and Lip had stolen some sparklers from the store on West 17th. Him, Fiona and Lip had lit them in the backyard and spelled out their names and curse words and Ian remembered feeling on top of the world, his eyes lit up like they held sparklers of their very own.

Frank had seen how excited they were and two days later he came back with bags filled with fireworks and a crowd of people from the bar and Ian stayed awake the whole night watching the fireworks from the roof of the van - him, Lip, Fiona, Debbie and Carl huddled together. Fiona's hand gripped his tight, letting him know he was safe up there, she was his safety net and she wouldn't let him fall. They watched the show of lights as they exploded like a celebration in the sky and Ian felt that same feeling now, of family and safety and happiness light up inside his chest.

"I do this every year." Mickey confessed, head tilted up to face Ian, the cigarette balancing between his fingers as the tip burned down against the rim of his beer bottle.

"Why've you never invited me before?"

"You were never here, Doofus."

"Oh so you always wanted to invite me huh?"

"Did I say that?!" Mickey asked, as if Ian was stupid, but then he smiled and shoved him away with his hand and Ian laughed and bumped his shoulder.

Mickey found himself almost smiling at the way the color returned to Ian's knuckles as the night went on. His shoulders relaxed, no longer frozen with fear and Mickey didn't hate the way that their legs pressed together even though he never noticed either of them moving closer together.

The beers ran out just after one AM and Mickey didn't mind that his tradition of being beyond drunk by this time had been broken. He held back, a step behind Ian as he stood with trembling legs and headed back inside to the safety of Mickey's bedroom. They lay down on the bed and listened to the noises of the fireworks outside, the colors lighting up the bedroom before they fizzled out and darkness spread over them once again.

Ian's lips were pressed against the pulse in Mickey's neck and as it raced faster he felt as Ian's lips turned up in a smile before he moved lower, biting and nipping at Mickey's skin, hands snaking under the hem of Mickey's vest, raising it as he slid his hands further up, leaving goose bumps across the map of Mickey's skin before he lifted it over his arms.

They laughed as the vest got caught on Mickey's ears but the sound was different. This night was different. It felt no longer like an act of two bodies, an act of convenience, of the need for release. Their bodies moved as one, their eyes trailed over each other, seeing the other one rather than just looking. The darkness brought them together in a way that they had never been before, the secrets that they kept hidden in the light spilled out of them as Ian's lips captured Mickey's, their bodies, their hands, their tongues saying the words that they could never give voice to.

They moved in sync with each other, breathed the other's name into their skin and took in the knowledge that this was their last time together for another ten months.

Afterwards, Ian's hands lingered on him and Mickey fought the voice in his head, his father's voice as it told to push those hands away. Boys aren’t supposed to like boys. Instead he sunk into them, trusted them. He inched back further, his back almost to Ian's chest, Ian's hand splayed across his stomach, possessive and wanting and Mickey's fingers twitched with the urge to cover that hand with his own.

Sleep took him under with nothing but the feeling of Ian's lips pressed to the back of his neck.


	8. Ian Gallagher: Aged 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun Dun

**Aged 17/18** .

_ "Summer will end soon enough.” _

**― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones**

It was a Tuesday that Ian arrived back in Michigan for the summer, earlier than usual and he had already planned that it was a Thursday that he had to leave. He had to leave early this year, to say his goodbyes to the South side and his family, prepare himself for college and his life after graduating high school.

He hadn’t gone to the ceremony, hadn’t even picked up his certificate yet. He and Lip had gone to The Alibi and Kev had let them celebrate with too many Jack Daniels and cokes. They had drunk too much, smoked too much and ended up passing out on a baseball pitch somewhere across town. Ian had woken up too late for the ceremony. Fiona still hadn’t forgiven him for missing it.

Mickey hadn’t graduated. Ian wasn’t even sure he completed the tenth grade. He did, however,send Ian a picture of an alien with a graduation cap on his head, a lit joint in his mouth and a beer in his hand. Ian didn’t have a clue what it meant, but he had appreciated it anyway.

They’d been in contact all through the autumn and winter, more so than they usually were. Texts were exchanged almost daily – pointless comments about their lives, bitching about a TV show that they were watching. Mickey had texted him several times throughout a Breaking Bad marathon with his sister. He laughed about how she ate a whole tub of frozen yoghurt whilst crying over Jesse Pinkman. In return Ian had sent him a picture of himself jerking off over a poster of Aaron Paul. Mickey had replied with the word ‘Prick’ and a picture of two blue circles (which Ian was sure were supposed to be balls) and ignored him for the rest of the night.

If anything, the regular contact over the months apart had just made Ian miss him more. 

Ian had Lip drive him up in the family van and he didn’t even bother going to Clayton’s first. Lip dropped him off at Mickey’s mom’s house and waved him off with a 'wear a condom' and a knowing smirk. Ian flipped him off and spent the next two hours waiting for Mickey on the front porch.

“Yo, what the fuck are you doing here already?” Mickey asked when he eventually turned up, biting the inside of his cheek as he slammed the gate shut behind him.

“Waiting for you.” Ian answered, like it should’ve been obvious.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey smirked, walking up the steps past Ian and nudging open his front door. He looked back at Ian and tipped his head, a smile creeping on to his face “Get on in here.”

Ian grinned and stood up, throwing his bag towards Mickey who caught it easily.

“Miss me?” Ian asked, walking past him, his thumb rubbing a small circle against Mickey’s hip before he pulled it away.

Mickey chucked the bag on the ground and pushed Ian towards the stairs, “You wish.”

******

“You know Mandy almost saw that picture of your dick.” Mickey said, blowing out a lungful of smoke, squinting as tendrils of smoke licked towards his eye. Ian took the joint from him and sniffed as he relit it.

“What picture?”

“The one on my phone.” Mickey crinkled his eyebrows and Ian smirked, chucking the lighter onto Mickey’s lap. Ian had barely had time to get his shoes off when he closed the bedroom door, Mickey had been on him, undoing his belt and already half-hard. Now, they were half propped up against the wall at the top of his bed, the blue sheets sprawled in a mess around them and Ian felt relaxed. He wondered if this was what coming home felt like.

“What did you do?” He asked and Mickey shrugged, flipping the lighter over in his palm.

“Slapped her round the head and took if off her.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, “You slapped your sister?”

“Round the head.” Mickey scratched at his ear before admitting in a quiet voice, “I don’t do it hard ‘cause if I do, she always beats my ass after.”

Ian laughed and Mickey just ripped the joint from his lips, “I can’t believe you got a sister that’s scarier than you.”

“Not scarier,” Mickey stressed, inhaling a long pull of the joint, “She’s just psychotic.”

Shrugging his mouth, Ian answered. “Same thing.”

Pushing himself up, Mickey moved over to straddle the tops of Ian's thighs, his boxers stretching tight as he spread his legs, “You scared of me Gallagher?”

“Yeah, right.” Ian breathed out, his hands on Mickey’s hips. Mickey leant in and kissed him, his hands fisted in Ian’s hair. He pulled back, frowning and tugging too hard at what little hair there was, “hate your hair like this.”

Ian reached up and scratched his fingers along the short stubble of Mickey’s beard “Like you with a beard.”

Mickey pressed down against Ian as Ian ran his fingers along Mickey’s stubble and into his hair and Mickey pushed his head harder against Ian's palm, enjoying the relaxation that washed over him from the touch, “Getting rid of it next week.”

“Why?” Ian mumbled against his lips and Mickey pulled his head back, sliding his hands up Ian’s sides, his nails dragging teasingly along Ian's skin as he rides up his tank top.

“Gets me too hot all the time.”

“You look hotter.”

“Queer.” Mickey said, voice low as his teeth nipped at the underside of Ian’s jaw. Ian slid his hands round the back of Mickey’s thighs and raised his hips against Mickey’s crotch. He pushed himself up onto his knees, wobbling for a moment as he stood up off the bed, his hands round Mickey’s thighs holding him in place against his chest. He pulled his head away and dropped his hands from Mickey’s ass, putting him upright on the floor.

“I gotta go.”

Mickey pressed his mouth against Ian's lips, desperate and hungry, his fingers scratching against the buzz of Ian’s hair and Ian kissed back for a moment before pulling away, “No.” Mickey complained against his lips and Ian chuckled.

“My dad’s gonna eat my ass if I don’t get there soon. Told him I’d be there two hours ago. Told him I was bringing Lip.” Ian said as Mickey trailed a path along his shoulder with his teeth.

“Eat your ass huh?” Mickey asked, his index finger running along the underside of the waistband of Ian’s boxers and Ian ignored the goosebumps that formed on his skin from Mickey's touch, ignored the red hot pang of need that crawled its way up from the pit of his stomach. He hadn't realised just how much he had missed him.

Instead, Ian just laughed and kissed him again before bending down and picking up his jeans.

Mickey grumbled before moving away and pulling on his own trousers, “I can always fill in for Lip, I’m sure Clayton’ll love that.” he laughed and Ian rolled his eyes,

“He doesn't hate you that bad.”

“I’m pretty sure last time I had dinner they had the place fumigated and exorcised after.” Mickey took a swig of the warm cola on his bedside table and shrugged on a shirt.

“No.” Ian protested, cocking his head to one side, “Well not the fumigated part.” he smiled and Mickey huffed out a laugh.

********

Mickey showed up at the park a couple of days later without a beard and Ian had grumbled about it for half the day before he decided that he preferred the lack of beard burn along his jaw and down his chest. Clayton also stopped eyeing him like he was carrying some contagious disease, red blotches spread out along his jaw and neck.

Ian had agreed to attend nightly dinners if Clayton agreed to have Mickey over at least once for dinner before the summer was over. Lucy had protested and it caused three days of arguments and three missed dinners from Ian before she finally caved and agreed to have him over.

"One night, Ian. I mean it!" Lucy yelled up the stairs and Ian jogged down them, tugging on the beige jacket that was now hugging his arms too tightly, the fabric straining and threatening too tear everytime his muscles tensed.

"I got it."

"If anything goes missing, I swear to God..."

"Oh.” Ian spun round to face her, “because he's my friend he's automatically a thief?" he asked, pursing his lips at her and Lucy sighed, aggravated.

"That's not what I meant. I've heard people in the neighbourhood talking about him - I know what he gets up too."

Ian frowned at her as he shoved his feet into his shoes, "You know I'm with him pretty much all the time.” he leant his face in closer to her, “what he gets up to, I get up to."

He stood upright and moved away from her as he scoffed at the expression on her face, "See you at dinner, Lucy."

As he slammed the front door behind him he could've sworn he heard Lucy cursing.

****

"Does your dad know about you?" Mickey asked that evening as they walked through the woods, back towards Clayton's.

They had spent the afternoon in the fort where Ian had, between joints, classless flirting and sloppy handjobs, rambled on excitedly, suddenly nine years old again, about Mickey coming over for dinner and spending time at Ian's.

Ian had told Mickey all about Jacob. Jacob who had finally lost the chubbiness that had once clung to his cheeks but still stood almost half a foot shorter than Ian was. Jacob who had snuck in drunk twice in the same week and talked Ian's ear off about his girlfriend who had jerked him off twice and let him feel her boobs. Jacob who confessed that Ian was actually pretty cool for a brother - at least sometimes when he wasn't pissing his mom off and making his parents argue.

Ian told Mickey about Lucy and what subjects to avoid to make her less pissed off and he told him about Clayton and the balls he was finally beginning to grow.

"Yeah, I told you he does." Ian answered when he finally snapped out of his thoughts, "He's the one that told my mom."

"Your other dad.” Mickey stated, “No-balls. Clayton."

"Uh..." Ian huffed out a laugh and lifted his eyebrows, "pretty sure he's known since the day I demanded you get three scoops of ice cream for dessert."

"Oh, shit." Mickey said, kicking at the blades of grass that brushed against his feet as they walked, "forgot about that."

Ian watched as Mickey's tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth before admitting, "...he does his best to ignore it."

"Yeah?"

Ian clenched his jaw, nodded, and ignored the way Mickey's facial features turned hard, "What about Lucy?"

"Right!" Ian barked out a laugh as he bumped his shoulder against Mickey's, "give her more reason to hate me? I’m already the dark cloud over her head; I don’t need to fully rain on her parade."

Mickey snorted and Ian rolled his eyes at him, "Your sister know?"

"Fuck no." Mickey grumbled, scratching at his elbow before he banged his hand along the yellow fence, loud clangs echoing around the empty park as the sun started to set in the sky.

"What about that gay best friend of hers?" Ian asked, laughing when Mickey glared at him. He laughed harder when Mickey's pale cheeks flushed red, "You did?"

Mickey growled at him and pushed a grinning Ian away from him. "Shut up. It w... it was one time."

"Any good?" Ian asked as they headed through an underpass and began walking uphill in the direction of Clayton's house.

"Was alright." Mickey admitted quietly, chewing on the skin around his thumb.

"Better than me?" Ian asked with a smile and Mickey just raised his eyebrows at him, a smile creeping on to his face.

"So needy."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, only breaking out into laughter when Mickey stuck his foot out and tripped Ian over.

****

Dinner at Clayton's had been more awkward and somehow better than Ian had planned. He'd been prepared for Lucy's bad mood and for Jacob to talk constantly about himself. He had prepared himself for Clayton’s awkward fumbling through conversations and asking too many questions. What he had not prepared himself for was Mickey answering every question that was asked of him, for Mickey to say please and, sometimes, even thank you. He had not expected Mickey to be on his best behavior.

"So Mickey, are you back working at the restaurant?" Clayton asked as he poured wine into his glass and plonked it back onto the table, droplets splashing onto the white tablecloth. Lucy glared at him for a moment before forcibly relaxing herself and pouring her own glass, making sure to not spill a drop.

“The what? The diner?" Mickey answered, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and running his tongue along his teeth, clearing them of food "Uh, no. No I, uh, got a weekend job at a garage down the block from my ma's."

Ian didn't miss the way Clayton's face brightened and he was torn between feeling excited, hopeful that his dad's opinion of Mickey was finally changing, and feeling the urge to slam his head on the table because of the complete cliché his life had become. If his life were a movie he would be the pretty pink prom queen introducing her leather clad, heavily tattooed boyfriend to her conservative family. What a joke. "Oh that's really great Mickey. Is that what you're interested in, cars?"

Mickey looked over at Ian for a second, scratching at his cheek, uncomfortable with the attention, before he took a swig of orange juice. "Uh, I guess. I done a couple o' courses on it."

"You did?" Ian asked, naked surprise written on his face and Mickey scratched at his ear just for something to do and swallowed the orange juice in his mouth.

"Mandy made me do 'em. She was doin' some hairdressing beauty course or some shit, didn't wanna go to the college on her own."

"Is Mandy your sister?" Clayton asked, feeding himself a forkful of green beans.

"Yeah." Mickey replied, tonelessly, barely looking up from his plate as he focused on cutting into a slice of meat.

The conversation fell dry after that and Ian couldn't bring himself to look in Lucy's direction when Mickey spilt orange juice onto the table cloth. He had wiped his hands on it a couple of minutes later and Ian tried not to laugh when he heard the clatter of Lucy's fork as it dropped against her plate.

He brought in dessert once everyone had finished and watched the smirk fill Mickey's face as a bowl full of raspberry ripple ice cream with three scoops and extra sauce was placed in front of him.

*******

After dessert was finished and cleared away, Lucy had spoken of colleges and Jacob's scholarship he was preparing for during his senior year, and Jacob's junior year exam results. Mickey had snaked his foot up the length of Ian's leg the entire way through the conversation and Ian was ready to burst by the time Lucy finished talking.

He jumped up out of his chair the first chance he got. He hurried a thank you to Lucy and pushed Mickey, who covered his laugh with a snort, towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Clayton asked, picking up everyone's glasses and following them out into the hallway.

Ian stepped back from Mickey and tried to fight back his smile, "to play video games." he said, eyes wide and innocent and he could see Mickey rolling his eyes beside him, rubbing his thumb along his bottom lip, hiding his smirk.

Clayton looked Mickey over before pointedly looking at Ian. He hummed in disapproval at him and sent them upstairs with a wave of his hand.

Once they were upstairs, Ian closed the bedroom door and Mickey pushed him up against it, placing wet kisses at his jaw. "Playing video games, huh?"

"Mmm." Ian smirked against Mickey's neck, "Didn't think he'd appreciate me telling him what I really planning on doing."

Mickey kissed him as Ian ran his hands down Mickey's back, cupping under his ass and lifting him. He fell back against the door and Mickey laughed, snaking his hands round Ian's neck, "Think we got time to fuck?"

"No." Ian muttered against Mickey's mouth, "But we got time for something."

Mickey groaned as Ian bit down against his neck and carried him over to the bed. "You were actually kind of polite at dinner," Ian commented as nonchalantly as he could, laying him down, his heart racing as he realised that this was happening. Mickey was here, on his bed, on his sheets, kissing him. "It was strange," he grinned against the dip in Mickey's stomach, "Almost like you were trying to impress him."

"Fuck off."

“Or me.” Ian finished and Mickey squirmed against his touch, trying to push him away for a moment. Ian looked up at him, a grin splitting open his face.

"I liked it." He confessed, sucking up a red mark on the soft flesh under Mickey's bellybutton.

"You're so queer." Mickey breathed out, his voice raspy as he lifted his hips up. 

He scratched his fingers in the short buzz of Ian's hair as Ian freed him from his boxers and took him into his mouth, "Yeah? That mean you want me to stop?" Ian asked as he licked along the vein stretching up the length of Mickey's dick.

"Fuck no." Mickey gritted out as he swallowed back a moan, his eyes squeezed shut.

****

"Boys, it's almost eleven," Clayton said as he walked into the guest room. Without knocking. Because apparently Lucy's strict rules about shit like that didn’t apply when it came to Ian having a guest over.

"We know." Ian replied, flatly. He was resting on one elbow, his legs spread out in front of him and he was currently kicking Mickey's ass on a shooting game they were playing. The volume

was up loud, drowning out the silence that had fallen between him and Mickey as they concentrated on shooting the shit out of each other on screen. They'd started the competition last year and, despite what Mickey argued; Ian was currently winning 17-13.

Mickey was sat with his feet curled around the planks of wood at the foot of Ian's bed and he was positioned like Ian, half pushed up and resting his weight on one elbow. Ian's calf was positioned comfortably between the warm skin of Mickey's arm and the itchy fabric of his tank top and whenever Mickey was losing he would reach his fingers behind Ian's knee and tickle until he was back in first place. The fucker.

"Well isn't it time Mickey went home soon? Last summer before college, I'm sure your mother would like to spend time with you." Clayton folded his arms and Mickey huffed out a sigh, getting the message, before he stood up and threw the controller back down on his bed.

"Way to be rude, dad." Ian said tonelessly, dropping his controller down on the quilt.

"I wasn't being rude, Ian. I just... me, Lucy and Jacob would like to spend time with you this summer. This is your last summer here."

Ian stood up and threw on his jacket, not noticing as Mickey went rigid where he was stood, his face going hard. "Whatever. I'm walking Mick halfway."

"Don't worry about it." Mickey gruffed, bending down and un-tucking the tongue of his shoe, "I can walk myself."

Ian looked him over, taking in his sudden mood and he frowned, not sure what was happening, "You sure?"

"What do I look like, seven years old?" Mickey bitched and Ian ignored the look of surprise on Clayton's face.

"Uh, I could drive you? It's really no bother." Clayton offered and he seemed to shrink smaller the more Mickey's darkened mood filled the room.

"I got it." Mickey all but snapped, picking up the beige jacket that was hanging over Ian's chair and shoving his arms into it, "Thanks for dinner," he forced out.

"Mick..." Ian tried, looking between Clayton whose arms folded across his chest as he stepped back, pressing against the TV looking like he wanted it to fall off and crush him, and Mickey who was pulling open his door and walking out of it.

"Later, Gallagher."

Less than ten seconds later he heard the loud slam of the front door.

*******

This summer, what little time that the two boys were able to spend together, was different to all the others, even different to last year. There was no longer any pretense when they were alone together. Every touch was desperate and clinging, and even when they were hiding out in the ice cream truck or playing basketball on the court, it was different - lighter than before with the unspoken knowledge that they were not alone in whatever this was.

At least Ian had thought that's what it was. He thought that they were together in this, moving towards something better. The first few weeks with Mickey had been as close to perfect as Ian would ever get. It was the two of them back together in their little corner of the world, their fourteen blocks of Michigan suburbia. They had grown up being the dirty grey smudges in a white-clean neighborhood - the grubby lower class fish swimming in a sea full of upper-middle class sharks. It was always the two of them against everything. But now Mickey had disappeared

off the face of the planet - no explanations, no nothing.

Ian flipped himself over and groaned loudly into his pillow, his feet scrambling against the mattress before he lay still and dug his toes into the sheets. "Fuck!" he bit out before launching his pillow across the room, where it landed with a light slap against Clayton's chest.

"You okokay, kiddo?"

"Can't call me kiddo, I'm a high school graduate now."

Clayton threw the pillow back to Ian and Ian hugged it to his chest as he sat up, glaring at Clayton as he sat down beside him. Ian took in Clayton's plain grey t-shirt and his dark jeans and frowned as he wondered when he outgrew the sweater vests. His glasses were sleek black frames and he had gel in his hair. He looked years younger than his actual age and Ian just pulled a face at him, "Are you cheating on Lucy?"

Clayton choked on his own saliva and looked wide-eyed up at Ian, "wha-- what? No, of course not!"

"You look... almost good," Ian said, his mouth turned down, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Clayton tugged awkwardly at the hem of his t-shirt, color painting across his cheeks, "I ... I felt like a change."

Ian stood up and slipped into his boots, tugging the laces too tight. He threw the pillow at Clayton's face and shrugged on a t-shirt over his vest, "Try less hair gel."

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Clayton ask, "But the rest is ok, right?"

He rolled his eyes and replied "Yes, dad." before slamming the front door behind him.

****

Mickey opened his phone and scrolled through his text messages, a bitter taste forming like bile in the back of his throat as he read through them.

From:  **Fuckhead**

_ U in? knocked 2ce already _

From:  **Fuckhead**

_ R U ignoring me? _

From:  **Fuckhead**

_ Ur beginning to suck. _

From:  **Fuckhead**

_ And nt in the gd way _

From:  **Fuckhead**

_ Wats ur problem Mick? _

From:  **Fuckhead**

_ It's been a week n a half mick. wtf is going on? _

Mickey had been walking through the woods for most of the afternoon. He didn't even know what he was doing, he had just been pacing up and down and ducking out of sight whenever the shadow of a person walking by threatened to find him and pull his head out of the sand.

Because that's what he was doing - burying his head. He knew it and he didn't care to stop it. His head was a mess and his stomach was knotted in ways he couldn't bring himself to untangle. It had been a week and three days since he had last seen Ian. He had avoided every text, every phone call, and every knock on his front door. He didn't even know why he'd started pulling away and ignoring him. It hadn't even been a conscious thought - he had just woken up one morning, the morning after dinner at Clayton's, sweaty and panting and his chest tight with the thought of Ian not being around next year.

At that thought something curdled in his stomach like spoilt milk and Mickey took a long swig of his beer until the feeling in his stomach washed away, dissolved with the fizz of barley and hops as it slid down his throat.

He sniffed, almost stumbling over himself as he bent down to pick up a stick. Standing back upright, he laughed drunkenly to himself as he jabbed at the air. Twelve years old again, the stick was a lightsaber and Ian was his enemy, standing opposite him and skilfully avoiding his jabs like the fucker always did.

Except Ian wasn't there. And Ian wasn't his enemy.

He was the opposite of that.

He was so much more than that, so much more.

He was so much that Mickey found himself choking under the weight of it when he lay awake at night. His body felt like it was doused in both fire and ice whenever Ian was nearby and he didn't know what to do. Because Ian was leaving. Leaving Mickey and Michigan and even his home in Chicago. He was going off to some fancy college and Mickey knew that he wouldn't be back next summer - they hadn't spoken about it, hadn't spent much time this summer talking about anything at all. But Mickey knew it was coming. Ian would spend next summer back with his family in Chicago, seeing his brother's and sister's and he wouldn't have time for his second family – for Clayton and Jacob and Lucy, let alone Mickey.

He downed the last of his beer, chucking it to the side of him. It hit the tarpaulin of the fort and slid down it noisily, landing on the bark-covered floor with a dull clunk.

Mickey twisted the stick in his palm, gripped it tighter until his knuckles turned white and before he was even aware he was moving, he was standing a foot away from the fort, arms raised, gripping the stick tight and he was swinging.

Over and over again.

He spilled out every emotion through the swing of his hands and he didn't stop until the fort and everything in it was just a heap of broken mess around him.

********

Mickey somehow managed to sober himself up on the walk home. His tank top and sweats were sticking to him; his whole face was flushed red from too long in the sun and too many beers. He could feel sweat trailing down the length of his spine by the time he pushed open the gate that led to his mother's house.

Hearing a loud grunt, Mickey looked up and saw Ian climbing the roof of his garage and he found himself staring up at him, Ian, with his shaking fingers and trembling legs. He tried not to think about what it meant - that Ian would conquer his fear of heights to find out what was happening.

Instead he blinked away the image of Ian on his roof and jogged up the porch to his house.

He found his feet moving faster up the stairs even as his brain fought for them to slow down. His body just seemed to move faster as if it was being pulled towards his bedroom, like there was some kind of magnetic pull between him and Ian, made stronger by lack of contact.

He slammed his bedroom door behind him and drummed his fingers idly against the door before he walked over to the window and opened it. He avoided Ian's eyes as Ian bowed under it, closing the window behind him and letting out a deep exhale as if shutting out the last of his fear.

"What do you want?" Mickey asked, muttering into his thumb as he bit at the skin around his nail.

"Where have you been?” Ian asked as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Out." He snarled, his head pounding and his skin sore, guilt spiking through him at the upset and worry that Ian was trying to hide.

"...Yeah, I got that."

Mickey pulled a packet of smokes out of his sweats and lit up a cigarette. He didn't offer Ian one.

He walked over towards his bedside table, his back facing Ian as he busied himself pretending to look through his drawers. He heard Ian push himself up away from the windowsill and switched from foot to foot, uncomfortable and pissed off "...I've been trying to call you. I actually want to see you before I go."

"Yeah?"

"What, you don't care?"

Mickey exhaled shortly through his nose before turning to face Ian, his posture stiff. "Why would I?"

"Wh--" Ian's mouth fell open and Mickey couldn't look at him, "I don't know Mick I thought I might get a 'oh see you around' or a 'congrats on getting into college' or at least a goodbye fuck, but..."

"What the fuck do you think this is?" He snapped, his voice angry and rougher than he'd ever heard it.

"This." Ian repeated, flatly, eyes going blank.

"This!" Mickey exclaimed as he swiped his hand under his nose, his eyes bugged wide and his cheeks hurting and tender from where the sun had been beating down on him. "This isn't real. This is just... something to pass the time while I’m stuck down here."

"Really?" Ian choked out and Mickey took a step backwards, glaring down at the ground, avoiding the upset look on Ian's face.

"Yeah, you know what it is. I'm not your boyfriend. We..." Mickey's teeth ground together and he shifted from foot to foot, agitated. "I can't be someone like that."

"You're 18 now Mick, you're not a kid anymore." Ian stepped closer to him, smirked at him like he could see right through him, like he could see why Mickey was acting like he was. "Your dad isn’t making you come here, hasn’t done for years."

Mickey's mouth formed words and his gaze shifted around on the floor, along the walls, anywhere but at Ian.

"You chose to be here." Ian stepped closer towards him, "You chose to be with me."

As Mickey looked up at Ian, ready to protest his words, Ian’s lips covered his, more gentle than they'd ever been. He held his mouth open over Mickey's, his tongue licking over Mickey's bottom lip until it fell open, until Mickey pushed it into Ian's mouth and kissed back. He raked one hand through the back of Ian's hair, gripping it tight in his fingers while the other hand pulled Ian in, closer against him and he moaned, questioning how he'd lost a battle he hadn't even known he'd

been fighting.

****

"I told you Gallagher. Fuck!"

Anger sliced through Ian like a razor blade and he felt his jaw clench together, grinding and solid, before he spoke. "You wanted this Mick, just as much as I did."

"Fuck you!" Mickey stood up, defensive, and shoved his feet back into his shoes. He didn't know how they got back here, back to arguing, but Ian was sick of it. He was sick of the confusion and not knowing where he stood. He was so convinced that he had it figured out, that he had finally understood where he and Mickey were at. He knew what he felt for Mickey and he had been so sure that Mickey had felt it too - was feeling it. But the moment it was over, when they fell into a heap on the bed, both completely spent, it became clear that Mickey, apparently, was not feeling anything.

Ian laughed at the thought, unexpected and harsh, a sound so white hot it sparked something, loud and uncomfortable, deep inside Mickey's gut. "Y'know what? Just..." Ian sniffed and yanked open Mickey's bedroom door, "I'm not going to be back next year, so you don't have to worry. About whatever this apparently wasn't.”

Mickey couldn't bring himself to look in Ian's direction and he refused to wince at the sound of the door slamming shut. He twisted the cap of the warm beer on his bedside table. He felt his eyes well up and he couldn't understand why.

His mouth formed words as he tried to blink away the wetness in his eyes, but no words came out. He sniffed and took a swig before he finally looked up at the door, his voice barely above a croak as he shook his head at his empty room.

"Whatever."

Ian left on a Wednesday - A week and one day earlier than he was meant too.


	9. Mickey Milkovich: Aged 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer is over, and Mickey makes a move.

**A Little While Later.**

**I would take you down the city for a ride**

**Spend the night together by the river on the west side**

**I wish you were here**

_ -The Sounds, Wish You Were Here _

Ian didn't know how long he'd been sat there, on the hood of his car. It was still light in the sky when he parked up and now, he realized, darkness had fallen over him, deep shades of blue painting the sky. 

He was parked in front of the Chicago River, surrounded by buildings and bright lights and it probably looked nice, peaceful, but he couldn’t really tell. His mind couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was Mickey and one night they had spent out by a lake that looked nothing like this one, on a night a whole lot different than this one. That night seemed like a million years ago now, like two different boys and two lifetimes ago. Mickey hadn't spoken to him in over a month – He had ignored his calls and his texts and each day had dragged on painfully, agonizingly, slowly.

Ian started college in just under two days and he found himself checking his phone religiously, looking for anything from Mickey; some stupid picture or a text bitching about some guy Horatio from some dumb fake cop show that Mickey

(would absolutely deny but) was secretly obsessed with, or a picture of something random he had found on his walk to pick up somewhere; Just anything to stop Ian’s mind from obsessing.

Feeling his fingers drum restlessly against his thigh, Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, an unsteady beating in his chest when once again the screen showed nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Looking beside him at the empty space on the hood of the van, Ian sighed out a long breath and run his hands over his hair, ducking his head in the gap between his knees for a moment. His hair was longer now, almost back to how Mickey liked it. He sat back up straight, tried to shake his mind free of images of Mickey raking his hands through the strands of Ian’s hair, pushing Ian’s old bangs out of his face and clutching the red clumps between his fingers and tugging just hard

enough for it to feel good.

Ian wondered how you were supposed to forget about someone when every single part of your own body reminded you of them.

Ian's entire body was marked by Mickey - silver dents in his shoulder in the shape of Mickey's teeth from where he'd bit down too hard; burns along his arms and legs from nights spent huddled up in the truck, too stoned to reach out and stop the hot rocks from spilling onto his clothes, burning at his skin. Mickey’s mouth, teeth, and tongue had traced every inch of his body.

Every summer was mapped across his body in scars and scratches, dents and cuts that never quite healed properly. He unconsciously pressed his fingers against the scar on the flesh between his ribs – the scar from a stick-cum-sword stabbed into his nine-year-old skin – he pressed down too hard, until it hurt and some of the pain he felt hissed out through his clenched teeth.

Looking down at the half-smoked cigarette in his hand, Ian bit the inside of his cheek at the realization that he had probably never finished an entire cigarette in his life. There was always Lip to share with, or Mickey. Mickey apparently wanted nothing more to do with him and now he was leaving Lip. Now he'd have nobody to share with. It was a pitiful thought and Ian found himself wallowing on it.

Wrapping his jacket around him tighter he slid off the hood of the van, threw what was left of the cigarette into the river below him and drove off, driving too fast and a little recklessly, and playing his music far too loud, trying to drown out the thoughts in his head.

When he got back home, inside the front door, he winced at the sound of noise and laughter, of happiness and love and all the things that Ian really didn't want to be surrounded by right now.

"Ian!" someone called, loud and high-pitched, throat clogged with emotion, but before he could register who it was he was being smothered by arms around his neck and the strong musk of Chanel filling his senses, "Oh, sweetie."

"Sheila?" Ian pulled away and frowned at her in confusion. “what’re you doing here?"

"I just wanted to be here, to see you before you left for college." she smiled, rubbing at the tops of his arms, "Oh honey we're all so proud of you."

"Uh... yeah," He smiled tightly at her and she scrunched her nose up happily at him, her eyes squinting to a near close as she smiled, warmly and slightly off kilter, back at him. Ian felt his chest hurt at her smile, at the way she was always so happy for everyone. Proud of everyone like they were her own children and family.

Ian thought of Karen and the Down’s syndrome baby in foster care, lost in the system thanks to Karen's lies about her own mother. Swallowing down a rush of anger and even more sadness, Ian forced himself to smile back at Sheila and wondered how someone like her ended up living in the same neighborhood as people like him, "Thanks."

He turned and began heading up the living room stairs when Fiona called him, demanding that he join the family in the kitchen. He walked over, dragging his feet, and pulled off his jacket, hanging it up on the coat hook before he took a moment to look around at his family, at the kitchen of his house. The whole dining room table was covered in party food - coleslaw and sandwiches, cakes and pastries. Looking up around the walls and along the ceiling, he saw that there were banners and streamers decorating the entire kitchen,  _ Congratulations _ and  _ Well Done _ scrawled in italics like Ian had done something to be proud of - like he hadn't cheated his way through half of his final semester.

"Come on college boy, let's celebrate." Lip said, too loud in Ian’s ear as he thrust a beer into his hand and clapped his shoulder affectionately. Ian just sighed, the feel of Lip’s arm burning at his skin. He picked at the label with his thumbs, distracting himself, as he admitted,

"I'm not in the mood."

He could feel Fiona’s questioning eyes burning holes into him, so he looked up at her and she frowned over at him, from where she was sat down at the table stitching what looked like his baby blanket. He didn't even want to ask why.

"You can't be down at your leaving-for-college party," She said and he blinked down at her, "What's wrong, lieutenant Gallagher?" she asked, her mouth tilted up on one side – the way it always does when she’s trying to hide her concern.

Ian just took a long swig of his beer and shook his head, ignoring the pang of guilt that was knocking against his chest at how ungrateful he was being, had always been when it came to Fiona. He took her for granted. His thoughts, as they always did, flickered to Mickey – of Mickey growing up in a house without guidance and without his very own Fiona. He wondered then, not for the first time, how he would’ve turned out if she hadn’t of been around.

Ian forced another smile at her, a slight upturn of his lips that did nothing but make her brows furrow deeper, “Nothin'"

Lip looked at him then, drawing his eyebrows together and his expression matching Fiona’s, silently asking if he was okokay and Ian didn't get the chance to answer. He didn’t get the chance to lie and nod and clink his beer against Lip’s own with a cheers and a fake grin, when the back door burst open with a loud, cackling cheer and an eruption of noise.

In walked Vee, their neighbor, with her arms thrown up in the air and the biggest smile Ian had ever seen, "It's time for a party!!!"

"Yeah!! Party!" Kev, Veronica's (now legit) husband yelled out as he followed in behind her with little baby Amy on his shoulders. She was squealing happily, her tiny hands splayed open wide against the sides of Kev's head, holding herself in place. Ian couldn't help but smile up at her, the complete double of her parents – Vee’s brown skin and Kev’s eyes - and in return she called out his name and kicked her legs happily against her dad's chest,

“Ian! Eeee-aaa---nnnn!”

Sniffing, Ian put down his beer a little too forcefully and jogged up the stairs, away from everyone else as a wave of longing and anger and upset hit him once again. Fuck Mickey. Fuck college and fuck having to leave everything.

"Well, what's with him?" Came Vee's voice from downstairs and he didn't have to see her to know the expression that was on her face.

****

"You're the douchebag, douchebag." Mandy snipped, her teeth gritted as she dug her nails into his upper arm. Mickey jabbed his index finger into her sides as they walked and she let out a yelp, her eyes bugging out at him.

Mickey had been dragged out shopping with his mother and sister, a day out to celebrate Mandy graduating. Her grades were pretty shitty and she had been banned from the graduating ceremony, but she was the only Milkovich to ever get her diploma and apparently that was some kind of big deal to their mom. They were in Michigan, back at his mom's for the weekend and despite his grumbled protests and half-hearted fighting, Mickey's mom had dragged him out of his pit and, literally, shoved him in the shower.

Apparently he had been moping for weeks. Apparently she could go fuck herself.

"Fuck you!" Mickey held his middle finger right in front of his sister’s face, barely an inch from her nose and followed her face around as she dodged and ducked to try and lose his hand.

"MOM!" Mandy screamed out, drawing the attention of half the shopping mall, as she batted at his chest, trying to push him away from her. His laughter was cut short when his mom smacked the pair of them upside their heads.

"Quit fucking embarrassing me, Michael!" His mom snapped with no real heat in her voice as she lit up a cigarette. Mickey took a cigarette from the packet and stuck it behind his ear as he rubbed at the spot where she'd hit, "You fight more than you and that old boyfriend of yours.”

Mickey felt something stabbing under his skin, pinpricks of something hurting and tugging at his insides. Before he could figure out what emotion it was or work out if something was genuinely wrong with his damn chest (because that would be so much easier), Mandy laughed loudly and distracted him from his thoughts. 

"Mickey with a boyfriend? Right! That's even crazier than the idea of Mickey having a girlfriend." she checked her hip against his and he covered her face with

his hand before pinching at her nose. She slapped at his forearm until he let go and she glared at him as their mom pulled at the back of Mickey's collar, tugging him away.

"You've heard of him - the ginger one." his mom croaked around a cigarette, holding onto the collar of Mickey's shirt like he was a damn toddler. Mickey didn't miss the way Mandy grinned at him like she had won. Bitch. "He's cute. I never would’ve guessed that, he was the dorkiest looking kid.” his mom laughed, husky like her throat was sore, “Mmm, now he’s tall, muscles in all the right places." she said almost dreamily and Mickey screwed his face up at her, outraged.

She laughed at him and her cigarette was dangerously close to Mandy's hair as she ran her fingers through it, finally dropping her hand from Mickey’s collar. It was the most maternal thing Mickey had ever seen her do, "You'd like him."

"Ah," Mandy started, her voice teasing and hinting, her eyes glazed over, almost like she had been tearing up and was trying to disguise it. That was almost enough to make Mickey not quite hate her. "That Gallagher kid you're always talking about?"

"I've mentioned him like twice and only 'cause you wouldn't stop talking about him, shut up."

Nope, he hated her. He truly did.

"When do I get to meet him huh?" She asked, pouting her lips out at him and bumping his shoulder. He pulled away from her and glared, trying to ignore that stupid tugging feeling in his chest, like his heart was trying to jump out of place and fall down into his shoe.

"Try never."

She laughed in the annoying way she always did when he was being grouchy, "What? Scared I'll steal him off you, shithead?"

Mickey let out an exasperated sigh and walked away from her, "Just shut the fuck up, dicksplash."

****

He had been walking on his own for less than five minutes when he saw it - A red light saber glowing in the darkened window of a store. He stared down at it as his mind went to humid summers and a boy with ginger hair and chubby cheeks and a childish grin, a film loop of memories running through his mind. He thought of the lightsaber pressing against his skin, making a path down the length of his neck. He thought of Ian. And the destroyed look on his face when he walked out of Mickey's room for the last time and it felt like a punch to his gut that made his insides ache the longer he looked at it. 

He only moved when he felt Mandy's hands clap down on his shoulders, just enough to be painful and the loud pitch of her voice as she shouted 'BOO' into his ear.

Mickey turned and looked at her dryly and she just rolled her eyes, looped her arm through his and dragged him towards a clothes store. He refused to turn back and look at the light saber, still bright and glowing red behind him.

*************

They were sitting in the food court in hard, plastic chairs that were painted a luminous orange. Their mom had disappeared an hour ago, off on a lunch date with some guy she met at a club a few weeks ago. Apparently she and Jay were no longer together.

"Whatever." Mickey muttered petulantly, ignoring Mandy as she rambled on yet again about her boyfriend.

Mandy twisted her lips and glared at him before reaching out and stealing his packet of BBQ sauce,

"Give it back." Mickey ordered, reaching over the table to grab it. Mandy with her stupidly long arms pulled it up out of his way, mocking him for not being able to reach it.

He fell back into his seat and muttered unintelligibly under his breath before he leant across the table and pinched her nipple through her bra, twisting it until she arched away and slapped him in the chest. He felt a little bit better when she seemed genuinely angry with him and he knew it was fucked up, but he felt like he needed it. He needed her to be as angry with him as he was with himself.

"What did dad tell you?!"

Mickey dropped his hand and rubbed at the spot on his chest where her hand had been, pressing down hard enough for pain to sting through his chest, "Don't smoke away all your profits?"

He snorted out a laugh as she raised a fist to him, his arms raised to defend himself, her free hand covering her now tender nipple, "No titty twisters now that I'm a c cup."

"C cup? Bitch you wish!" Mickey scoffed as he threw a fry at her. Mandy snarled at him before reaching out and tugging on his hair, making him yell out in pain.

He winced and let out a groan when she finally let go and he scowled at her like a two year old as he fixed his hair back into a spike.

"So you gonna tell me why you've been so fucking miserable? You've not eaten, not even finished your dinner. I don't think I’ve seen you refuse food since that time you cracked your tooth and your face swelled up.” Mandy sniffed and widened her eyes at him in question when he refused to answer. She hesitated for a moment before asking, “Is it Ian?'

Mickey's glare became heated and he looked away as he saw genuine concern creep into her eyes, "Nothing’s wrong. Fuck."

"How'd you mess up?" She asked, ducking her head to meet his eyes.

"Fuck makes you think it was me?"

A wry smile etched onto her face and she bit into a sauce covered fry, "Because you’re a Milkovich. S’kinda what we’re known for. You steal his girlfriend or something?"

Mickey rubbed a hand over his face and he felt his shoulders deflate, with the sudden urge to laugh until he cried, "...No."

"Well what then?"

"I just... I don’t know. We argued. Shit happens, whatever." He drummed his fingers restlessly, agitated, against the table, cursing himself for not being able to tell her, cursing himself even more for ever wanting to tell her.

"Was it a serious argument?"

"I don't..." Mickey exhaled through his nose and focused on the noise of the salt and pepper shakers as he slid them back and forth between his hands "I'm not going to get to see him again. He's away at college. I..."

"You miss him?" She asked, except it was said more like a statement and Mickey blinked up at her, nostrils flared.

"Fuck off." His voice cut out and Mandy’s eyes flashed with something that made him want to vomit, it was too much. It was too close to her knowing the truth and he couldn’t have that.

"It's ok to miss him," she said and there was something so earnest and honest in her voice that the just clenched his jaw and tried to tune her out as he glared at the table, hoping for it to burst into flames, "He's like your only friend."

"Not my..."

"Just." She cut him off abruptly "Find a way to fix it, Asshat." She smiled at him and threw a fry at his face. He batted his still-full carton of fries towards her and huffed out a laugh when they spilled, greasy and salty, into her lap. She lifted her head up towards him and glared at him, fire in her eyes, and he stood up and ran before she could catch him.

****

Mickey ditched a night at his mom's house - with his mom and sister painting each other's toenails and talking about boys - for a night in the woods. His body was aching and he was dog tired, it was 2.30 in the morning by the time he had finished. He chucked his bag into the gap and ducked under the branch and into the brand new fort.

He had spent the whole night rebuilding it, making it again from scratch. Making it, physically, better than it ever was before.

The gym mat he had stolen from the school a few blocks over was brand new, thick and spongy. The tarpaulin was clean and larger and didn't flap noisily with the wind. The fort was better in every possible way and Mickey should have loved it. But he didn't. Couldn't.

Because it wasn't their fort anymore - it wasn't his and Ian's.

It didn’t have a mess of Ian’s stuff in the corner and he didn’t have Ian’s skanky feet brushing against his, and Ian’s constant complaining about condensation and his sinus’ and being too tall for the angle he was laying at. It didn’t have Ian.

He lay himself down amongst the pile of old blankets that were still somehow there. They smelt of dirt and wood and them and he growled against one of the cushions as he brought it to his face.

It felt gross against his skin, left outside for far too long and he pulled his head away from it and threw the cushion away from him. Too many feelings were stirring in his stomach and he didn’t know how to even try and combat them. This shit was supposed to be done with – over by now. It had been ages. It had been long enough that he should’ve forgotten all about that ginger fucking kid that had somehow crept in and taken over his mind. 

He sniffed, ignoring Ian’s voice in his head moaning about sinus problems caused by the weather and the fort, and he dug his phone out of his pocket. Feeling his stomach twist and knot as the ringing started in his ear, he had to close his eyes as his heart beat out of tune in his chest. He definitely should've been drunk for this.

"Lip?" Mickey asked, nerves dying in his stomach as he heard the call connect in his ear, the phone crackling as he heard Lip sigh out a hello down the other end,

"Ah, the reason for my brother's bad mood."

Mickey frowned, bit his tongue and swallowed back an argument "...he there?"

"No."

Lip’s voice held annoyance and amusement and Mickey wanted to punch him. He wanted to punch Ian for not being able to keep his mouth shut when it came to his brother and he wanted to punch himself for even bothering to call in the first place. "Well where is he?"

"College."

"Stop being so fucking vague - where?"

Lip let out a noise at the sound of Mickey's pissed off voice "Fisher College - Off being a Falcon and taking those dumbass ROTC classes."

Mickey chewed on his bottom lip, "Yeah, he mentioned that."

He thought back to a day sprawled out on a patch of grass and Ian rambling on about ROTC classes and how powerful he felt when he was training, how he wanted to feel the pride one day of being able to say that he had fought for his country and helped make the world a better place.

Mickey had just snorted and told him that fighting and shooting shit to make things better was like running over a dog and then expecting it to say thank you and love you anyway. Ian told him that that didn’t make any sense before he continued to talk about his dreams of being an officer, someone that people looked up to. Mickey remembered feeling sick at the thought and consoling himself, trying to tell himself that it wouldn’t really happen – shit like that never really happened for people like them. But this was Ian. He should’ve known.

"Did he mention that the scholarship he accepted means he has to do four years active duty after he graduates?"

Mickey fell silent as he pushed himself upright, his chest stuttering and stammering, pounding against his ribs and thoughts flying violently around his head, rattling against his skull like a really intense head rush. He let out a breath that was far too shaky to be read as calm and Lip took Mickey's stunned silence as a no. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Still want his address?"

Looking around at his empty fort, Mickey hung his head and pressed his lips into a thin line, not having any kind of answer.

****

Of course, even with the news of Ian's post-graduate job, Mickey found himself driving the 15 hours from his mom's house to Boston. He cursed himself and changed his mind a hundred times over on the ride down and yet he still found himself standing inside the grounds of some fancy looking university that turned away the likes of him the moment they set eyes on him. Fisher College may just be the most intimidating grounds that he'd ever set foot on.

It took him more than 45 minutes to locate Ian's dorms. He had stopped to ask some basketball players and musicians where the dorm was and he ended up selling a bunch of weed and even some coke (that he grossly overpriced) to a few of them. He saw one of the guys – a decent looking guy with skinny arms and huge eyes - eyeing him up and his first thought was of Ian – if the guy had looked at Ian that way, if Ian had returned that same look. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that Ian hadn't slept with other guys since him - to Ian, to both of them, sex was just sex. It always had been. It was never a secret between them that they had both been with other people. 

But now, with Mickey making the first move, the first set of moves, he felt vulnerable and open and like he was the dumbest person in the grounds that he was walking on.

This whole plan was stupid, he thought to himself as he made his way up yet another damn flight of stairs, he shouldn’t have come here. He didn’t have a clue what he was even thinking – Even if Ian did … fuck, he didn’t even know what he was going to say to Ian. If he even saw him. And what would he do if Ian turned him away? Worse, what would he do if Ian asked him to stay? He can’t move to Boston and start a new life down here, can he? Plus Ian’s got four years of college and then four years getting shot at abroad, what Mickey’s supposed to just wait for him? Could he do that?

Mickey paced up and down the hallway enough times to make him dizzy and he hit his palms against his head to calm himself down. He felt so far out of his comfort zone that all he wanted to do was curl in on himself and attack anyone that dared come close to him.

But he didn't.

Instead he sucked up whatever the feeling was that had brought him here and walked along the hallway that led him to Ian's door. He fought back the nerves that were bubbling under his skin, making his concentration dissolve into nothing. He barely even registered as a guy walked out of Ian’s room with big headphones on and a long sweeping fringe that covered his face.

At first Mickey felt a tinge of jealousy seep into the nerves, clearing his head, but the thoughts were shook from his head as quickly as they got there. The guy was too skinny and too tall for Ian.

Mickey resisted the urge to smirk at how tight the guy’s jeans were and instead looked at his ass as he walked away, tuning out the nervous drumming of his heart. He looked back at Ian's door and the numbers suddenly seemed huge and daunting and he hated walking into a situation unprepared. He hated not knowing what Ian's reaction would be. Everything in his body was telling him to go, to leave and pretend that none of this happened.

But then images of him lying in the bed at his mom’s, curled up against his pillow, far too hungover to even try and pretend that he wasn’t inhaling through his nose to see if he could still smell Ian. He had been pathetic the last few weeks and the thought of that continuing was even scarier than the thought of Ian’s reaction. 

The hurt and the feelings and the thought of it all carrying on was almost scarier than the thought of Ian’s rejection.

He took two steps closer to the door and raised his fist, rapping one knuckle against the wood as his eyes darted around, making sure he was alone. His nerves bounced around in his stomach and his heart hammered against his chest and his mouth suddenly went dry, all the moisture in his body deciding to exit out of his palms as they started to sweat.

Mickey counted the seconds as he waited for a response.

Two seconds and he heard shuffling on the other side of the door.

Four and there were footsteps, edging closer and nearer.

Five and he could hear Ian's hand on the doorknob.

He didn't even get to six before the door was open and Ian was blinking at him, eyes widened in surprise before he managed to compose himself, his breath catching for a moment before he spoke,

"Wh- What are you doing here?"

Mickey shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage and tried to look away "In the area?"

Ian just looked pissed. "Right. So you didn't call up my brother asking for my address?"

Rolling his eyes, Mickey picked at the paint on the doorframe, an annoying habit that he'd picked up from spending too many summers with some ginger prick. He felt anger biting at his skin, fighting for dominance over the nerves that were refusing to budge, "If you knew, why'd you ask?"

Ian sighed, folding his arms across his chest, looking tired and angry and Mickey drew in an unsteady breath "...what do you want Mick?"

Mickey should’ve prepared a speech. He definitely should’ve prepared a speech. 

Or at least a full sentence.

An apology, anything.

He chewed on the corner of his lip, fighting for the confidence to be honest for once in his damn life. This was Ian; this was supposed to be easy. Everything about them had always been easy and this, whatever happened now, afterwards, whatever questions came, it would always boil down to the two of them. Easy. He inhaled through his nose until his lungs were full and he was forced to open his mouth. He looked Ian over, pointedly, eyes serious when he replied, "You."

Ian's mouth dropped open followed by a look of pure confusion, "Wh- I thou--you said?"

"I know what I said." Mickey stated, his voice coming out husky and wrecked and emotional and he swallowed quickly and cleared his throat, losing all confidence to look up at Ian.

Ian opened the door wider, angry now. "You can't just change your mind and pick me up and drop me whenever you feel like."

Mickey bit the inside of his cheek at Ian's reaction. He didn't know what else to do. He'd always made sure that every situation in his life was something he was prepared for. He'd long readied himself for the knowledge of his parent’s divorce, when Mandy came into his room crying because she had gotten her period he had already read through three different books, finding out how to handle it. 

When he went to drop off for his dad he always made sure it was in a place of

his choosing, a place where he knew every exit. The rare time that he found himself in a situation that he had no clue how to deal with, that was when his fight or flight instinct kicked in. And flight won nine times out of ten. It just made things easier. And that was exactly what he planned to do now. So he sighed and held his hands up, drowning out every other voice in his head that told him not to, to stay and fight.

"Look - I'm here. I just drove fifteen fucking hours. It took me forty five minutes to find this damn place and ...” he took a breath and gained his composure, scratching idly between his eyebrows with the back of his thumb. That was enough emotional vulnerability for one day, thank you. “Whatever. I said what I gotta say. So."

He didn’t know where to look anymore, so he turned and began walking off when Ian reached out and grabbed his arm, too hard, and pulled him backwards into the dorm room, "You're a fucking idiot." Ian said, his voice serious, reminding Mickey of the time when they were sitting just outside of his bedroom, after they had hooked up the first time and Ian had called him a pussy.

Mickey hated it just as much now as he did then.

Mickey looked up at Ian, owlish and unsure and eyes filled with the same guilt that Ian had seen from him for years, the honest kind that he never quite managed to hide. He tucked his hands under the cuffs of the beige jacket he was wearing as Ian closed the door behind them. He pushed Mickey into it, biting down on Mickey's bottom lip just slightly too hard and laughing when he hissed in pain.

"Fucker." Mickey bit out before pulling Ian back in for another kiss, his heart racing in his chest and for the first time in weeks it felt good. Really, really good.

“Pussy.” Ian breathed out against his lips, one half of his mouth turned up in a smirk and Mickey laughed and wasted no time in pulling Ian’s shirt over his head.

Mickey’s nerves washed away in his stomach, replaced with something else. Something warm and light, that he always felt around Ian. And he didn’t care what happened after this moment, he’d move, he’d wait, and he’d do whatever it took. Because everything had always boiled down to the two of them and the warm, light feeling curled in Mickey’s stomach. Easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you lovely people who left kudos, comments, or even just read this old thing.
> 
> I remember listening to The Sounds on repeat while writing this fic, and I also remember hating that it ended. So I wrote more and more and more and ended up with about 60 something pages of extras, which I posted a few of way back when.
> 
> I'll add some of them here once I've dig them out. 
> 
> Thank you all for making me fall in love with Ao3 again it's been emotional!

**Author's Note:**

> To the lovely person who has asked about this story, I really hope it lives up to your memory of it.


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